Where All Who Know May Drown
by Praxidicae
Summary: This is my take on the events of "Thor: Ragnarok." It was started when very few details were actually known about the plot. It is in no way canon compliant. Plot heavy. References to mythology mixed with MCU canon. Action sequences (and some gladiators!)
1. Part 1: Prelude-Prologue

Prelude

This is the story of two brothers.

One brother was as golden and mighty as if he had been blessed by a sun, and the other was as fair and haunting as if he had been born of the starlight. Each was a prince of the most powerful people in the universe, and each had undeniable strengths and hidden vulnerabilities. The child of the sun was fearless and brash, while the child of the starlight was guarded but clever. The threads of their lives ran parallel for many years, intertwining only when a bond of great trust grew between them, never to be broken.

Or so it was thought.

A turning point was reached where one brother, rent by his own inner torments, faded into shadow, while the other brother grew more luminous, as the halves of an interwoven lifeline are wont to do. Thus, the younger brother was lost to rage and envy, and he fell into darkness.

The golden child mourned the absence of his sibling, but he managed to channel the light at his disposal to the benefit of those in his care, even in worlds beyond his own. Yet his mindset is a good always strayed to thoughts of the brother who had been lost to him. Without the other other's balance, the thread of the bright one's life began to unravel, the strands separating and leaving the weft of his life in disarray. As the younger brother began to try to turn from his misdeeds, he recalled that his purpose in the universe was ultimately bound by fate, and he would, therefore, have his final days written by the hand of destiny, for he was to set in motion an event that would define his existence.

The end of all things.

Introduction

This tale will not end well.

I say this not because I am the primary narrator of this story (although that may well be enough to merit a sense of foreboding) but because all that I am about to relate to you has been foreseen, in one manner or another. I am of Asgard, or at least I was raised as such, and that allows me a certain perspective when it comes to events of epic proportions: they happen. They always have. Oh, we may go as many as four or five centuries without an occurrence that ends in devastation for one race or another or which shakes the foundations of Yggdrasil itself, but, eventually, the eyes of the Norns fall upon each one of us. It seems to me - for Asgardians, anyway - that this truth is more frequent than for inhabitants of other realms. Therefore, I am not typically one to embellish the magnitude of a situation, and so you can believe me when I say that what happens from here onward will be rather important.

There has been endless speculation about the manner of the ending of the world, practically since the beginning of it. Midgardian man (and woman, to be fair) in particular has always had a gleeful fascination with imagining the large-scale destruction of his world, whether it be in works sacred or profane. The measure of the appropriateness of some of these acts seems almost arbitrary. For example, if your chosen deity torches the entirety of your known world in a prophesied act of purification, then that is an event to be at the very least endured, if not celebrated. Oddly, however, if someone from a neighboring clan comes and levels your village, then that action is labelled 'incendiary'. I should know - you see, I have been ostracized for some rather 'incendiary' behavior recently. But we can return to that point at the appropriate time.

Personally, I have borne witness to the affairs of the Nine Realms for over a millennium. I have seen times of war, times of peace, and the uneasy reprieves that lie in between. I have personally fought, bled, and killed in the service of others; more recently, I have fought, bled, and killed for reasons that were mine alone. And during the quieter times . . . well, I did my share of harmless meddling and mischief-making. Well, perhaps not completely harmless, but it was always intended to be.

Alright, it was _mostly_ intended to be.

Regardless of the path that has led to this moment, I find myself here, balanced upon the peak of a pivotal instance with no friends or allies to aid me. It is a scene that is quite familiar, I assure you - and, thus, there is no more need to worry for me than there has ever been. What I do have now, however, is an overabundance of both parchment and privacy, and so I have chosen to spend the opportunity with which I have been afforded by purging myself of all my thoughts in written form simply because I have the resources to do it. It will pass the hours until I can conceive of what else to do - to devise some method to impede the inevitable, to divert a narrative that has been oft foretold. It has always been my misfortune that my greatest solutions come to me only when my mind is occupied with other matters, and so I am obliged to scribble out these worthless missives until the moment of my epiphany arrives.

I should start at the beginning, then, and yet I find myself at another disadvantage in regards to the starting point. There are dozens of possible moments in time I could choose, each of which could be considered a catalyst for one of the events that have led the Aesir down this path, the course of which has been predetermined since before most of the primary players were even born. Thus, you see my dilemma. In order to remedy this polytomous narrative I have chosen to focus my account on those elements that are most profoundly known to myself, meaning the ones in which I was personally involved. I attest that I do this for no other reason than to streamline the number of plotlines that I must interweave to lead my chronicle from its beginning to its end and not for any personal advantage that I might attain from being the center of the tale.

I know, I know - it is quite convenient for me, though, is it not?

If you knew my current situation, however, you would find that there is little else in my circumstances that could be characterized as favorable. I have been divested of both my advantage and my freedom, which I consider to be most uncharacteristic of myself even during the most trying happenstance. I can offer no excuse other than that it is the end of the world, and, therefore, I may be a little 'off my game,' as it were. Yet I must come to a solution with some immediacy or the sacrifices of others will be rendered meaningless, and I am a firm believer that, if you must give up something you cherish, its loss should have a definitive purpose. I am nothing if not sentimental - or merely practical, depending on how you may have interpreted that statement.

And I am about to lose everything. Quite practically.

- _From a letter by Loki Laufeyson, written within a locked chamber of Hel._


	2. Part 1: Ch 1

Where All Who Know May Drown

~~Part I~~

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then- in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life-was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still:

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

- _-Alone_ by Edgar Allen Poe

~~Chapter 1~~

Alone Amid Magnificence and Doom

(This is my beginning, and, therefore, it is my truth.)

My eyes followed a large, plodding man as he sloughed a path through the knee-deep snow, his slate cloak swirling around him in the unforgiving winds, I gazed down from upon the face of the cliff wall on the closest peak to the main metropolis of Asgard and watched his steady approach toward the limits of the city. Once inside its walls, he turned ploddingly to the east, as the others had done before him, his steps like pinpoint blemishes upon the crusted surface of the snow. The action was expected, and yet I hummed in response as if I had not seen a dozen others mirror this movement already that day.

It was vexing, at the very least.

The dark, oily bird on my shoulder dug his talons deeper into the cloth of my cloak, the pressure just enough for his claws to threaten the flesh beneath it. I attempted again to shrug the irksome creature from its perch, but it resisted my efforts as easily as it had before. "You seem troubled," it crowed mockingly in my ear. If a raven could laugh then I swear that it did so.

"Hmpf," was my profound reply.

The fowl's troublesome twin danced happily at my feet, the motion creating a soft whisper in the drift beneath it. "You watch and you watch, and yet you do not act. One might think that you are uncertain of the action you should take," he prated, his feathers ruffled proudly around his throat.

I crooked a thin, pale finger against my lips and said nothing. Ravens are not the easiest of companions, even at the best of times.

Hugin-the bird upon my shoulder-pulled at a loose thread near the crease of my cloak and glared at me, his head cocked silently and his cloudy eye searching my neutral features. "You are most timid, Loki of Jötunheim. Why do you waver when before you would have been swift to move?"

I gathered the cowl of my garment more tightly around my face and said nothing. Likewise, I grasped firmly to the faint hope that the troublesome birds had not noticed the twitch upon my brow as I endured their taunts. Their incessant barbs had been the bane of my previous few Asgardian months; Asgard's King had commanded that they shadow my every movement while his conclave amassed. It seems that my erstwhile father would see me wither beneath the press of his scrutiny until the ending of all the realms.

Fortunately for me, this event was manifesting sooner than even his aged wisdom had anticipated.

Odin Allfather was gathering all of the wise and eminent beings in the Nine Realms - not to the conventional location of the Great Hall in Valaskialf but oddly to the Lesser Hall in Thrudheim - in order to discuss the recent, troubling events in our macrocosm. Well, _most_ of the wise and eminent ones, anyway. My lack of invitation was clearly intended to convey my fallen stature among the Aesir (appropriate, I confess, due to the knowledge that I was not actually one of them). My recent misconduct involving the appropriation of Odin's form after forcing him into a 'spontaneous' Odinsleep was also a likely contributor to my exile, and yet I cannot deny that the momentary amusement I received from impersonating the Ruler of the Nine Realms for even so brief a span was more than worth whatever isolation I now endured. It was simply the basest sort of mischief - and, incidentally, a Hel of a lot of fun.

The penance I had earned for my misdeed was not mere banishment from my home realm but also the constant company of the King's faithless sentries: the two black harpies known as Hugin and Munin. In the Old Tongue, their names roughly translated to "Thought" and "Memory," though the irony is that they seem to possess little of either. Their presence had been far more vexing than being forced beyond the borders of Asgard, for their incessant prattling made my scheming all the more difficult. What they actually reported back to their Master I cannot say for they were only away one at a time and then only quite briefly. These birds were the first sight I was greeted with at dawn, their gazes judgmental as their heads tipped mechanically from side to side like all ravens do when they are sizing up a threat. Likewise, they perched tauntingly beside my pillow when I was lying down for sleep - which is something I do very scarcely, to be honest. My only mercy was that they spoke infrequently, though when they did it was only to mock and to criticize. Therefore, I bided my time, basking in the comfort that if the end of all things was nigh that at least it would allow me to be rid of them.

Up here among the mountains surrounding the western edge of the Realm Eternal, the wind was nearly as relentless a tormenter as these carrion fiends that haunted my every step. I have always been unusually resistant to the frigid winds of the Asgardian winter, and I am now aware that I owed this convenience to the genetics of my true heritage, buried though it was beneath layers of Odin's illusions. However, even I could feel the bite and sting of this particular wind, its bitter cold like pinpricks against the exposed skin of my face.

"It is getting worse," I murmured absently and then immediately prayed that the ravens had not heard. Such was not my fortune.

Munin squawked as he continued his strange, shuffling jig along the front of my boots. "The winds grow more fierce - the cold more bitter. Each day Asgard freezes, and then the next it freezes more."

Hugin's claws contracted around my shoulder again, the sharp nails exerting a pressure that finally broke skin, as well as punctuating the importance of his words. "You know your place in this matter," he gurgled, his tongue clicking wetly against the edge of my ear. "Do not oppose the Allfather's command. This gathering holds no place for you."

I tapped a finger upon the crook of one folded arm in deep consideration. Finally, a calculating grin wafted its way across the line of my lips. "But . . . what if it did?"

My feathered companions squalled in unison. Each of them began a scolding tirade, the general theme of which was 'The Allfather has forbidden you to do the thing', and then 'the consequences if you do the thing.'

A waste of breath, really. I was clearly **going** to do the thing. It was only a matter, at this point, of how I was going to go about it. I traced the footprints of all the individuals who had journeyed to the Lesser Hall that day, the evidence of their passing in varying degrees of drifting over. It was clear to me that they had each come alone and at disparate times during the day - a flagrant attempt to hide the Assembly and its purpose from the common people. The choice of venue was likewise selected in order to throw others off the scent: large and important meetings typically took place at the Great Hall, and, thus, this location was yet another cover. All of this surreptitious foolery just made the gravity of the situation more transparent since no one goes to so much trouble to say 'there is nothing important going on here' unless the circumstances are dire indeed.

It was only a hunch, actually- just a feeling that the information I had recently obtained was relevant to their clandestine discussions about the fate of the realms. Yet it hung so desperately at the fore of my thoughts, causing me nearly as much discomfort as the birds who constantly sneered at my most mundane of activities. ' _What if it were? What if that knowledge could prevent the destruction of our world?'_ Even if that world had never fully accepted me, even in my less spiteful days, I would always hold some measure of attachment to this place wherein nearly all of my life's memories were forged. I suppose that level of regard is born more of practicality than sentiment, since utterly wiping the recollections of an entire life from one's consciousness - along with every torment, every insult, every scar - would likely cause one to go mad. Plus, if I'm being honest, there _were_ some brighter moments here and there that I simply would not want to expunge. After all, I might be able to use them later at someone else's expense. (Surely you did not think me so maudlin?)

The protests of my fowl companions grew more overt as I stood upon the precipice. an unsettling smirk playing upon my lips. Eventually, Hugin flapped his wings in a frenzied storm of feathers and desperation, the tips of his stiff, smooth plumage brushing my cheek. "You shall not enter that Hall, Loki Laufeyson! Odin has forbidden it!" When his tantrum subsided, the raven reduced himself back to a soundless state, but I could feel his frequent, anxious twitching transferred into the flesh of my shoulder.

"Steady, Scourge," I said. (I had refused to refer to them by their true names, calling one 'Scourge' and the other 'Tribulation'. It did seem to perturb them on most occasions.) "I intend only on delivering a message to the Council. I never asserted that I would actually _enter_ the Hall."

Munin hopped onto a crag adjacent to my elbow, ruffling his neck plumes and then shuddering from his head to the tip of his tail. He tilted his head so that he observed me with only one eye and studied me rigorously. After several moments, he croaked, "I do not trust your intentions, Liesmith." He continued to scrutinize my countenance for any evidence of my deceptive nature, but I made my features smooth and unrevealing. He crept toward me mechanically, his scaly, elongated feet making stick-like impressions in the powder beneath him. "There is a ploy among your words," he declared, and then he paused to preen his left wing, all thought of my duplicitous nature suddenly forgotten.

Ridiculous creatures, these servants of Odin.

Still, he was not wrong about my objectives. My words had indeed been carefully chosen in order to circumvent my true aim, and yet the veracity of my statement could not be challenged. I fully intended to adhere to the letter of my words - even if the spirit would need to be violated. We cannot escape who we are, after all.

Hugin, on the other hand, was not so easily misled.

"So you are sending a written dispatch, then?" he clicked, that murky eye of his attempting to seek out my gaze with clockwork-like movements of his head.

I continued to stare straight onward, watching carefully as the large, wooden doors of the Lesser Hall opened for the hulking man and then closed heavily in his wake. "Not exactly," I replied, stoic. I turned back toward the mountain pass before the raven could either protest or make further inquiries. It was only a few dozen steps back down the slope of the path and into the mouth of the cave that I and my despised companions were using as a shelter, and I had nearly a dozen beats of precious solitude before my two wardens followed me in a flurry of sound and movement.

"If you are plotting at something," Munin spat accusingly as he landed upon a neighboring chair, his brother choosing to light upon my shoulder once again, "Then it would be our duty to inform the Allfather of any such infraction."

"Oh, most assuredly" I retorted, a mocking lilt edging my reply. "However, I feel as if you are fuzzy on one scant detail."

Both avian heads tilted towards me then, each of their visible eyes rounded with worry.

"If I do manage to infringe upon the Allfather's congress of 'Who's Who in Asgard,' then he will be there to witness it himself. Your services as informants will hardly be needed."

The raven on my shoulder huffed indignantly but could hardly argue my irrefutable point.


	3. Part 1: Ch 2

~~Chapter 2~~

A Little Wisdom and Much Pain

Those esteemed members of Odin's advisors who were present at the Council were of two primary moods: troubled or severe. The majority of their number had been present here for hours, picking over the remnants of the bread and meats that they had been offered upon their arrival and trying awkwardly to not need to make further conversation with the others who surrounded them. The relentless wind that howled between the gaps in the heavy doors had risen to a pitch that was nearly a tormented wail, and it did little to soothe the frayed nerves of those who kept a vigil within the Hall.

The assembly was waiting upon the final member of their number, the most ancient and indolent of Odin's cohorts, Hoenir of the Furthest Realms. The Allfather had counseled them that Hoenir was a being of his own pace, and that, while expected before the setting of Asgard's sun, he would not be hastened by any interference upon their parts. Still, the endless waiting had become nearly unbearable considering all that was at stake.

Thor sopped up the last of the juices from his long-eaten leg of boar with a stale biscuit. He brought the bread to his mouth as if to consume it out of mere boredom, but then he thought better of such a futile action. His appetite had been sated long ago - almost twice over by now. Yet when his hands were idle, his mind was wont to wander back to thoughts that were -unkind, at the very least. Probably agonizing if he lingered upon them. How long had it been since they had last spoken? Days? Weeks? And the last words that had passed between them had been so acerbic, his brother's words and bearing exasperatingly dismissive. It had been infuriating.

He swallowed the biscuit in one spiteful portion.

It was just when he had determined that his vacant plate would better serve him by colliding with the far wall of the chamber that the doors of the entrance finally began to stir. It was barely perceptible at first, just a rattle of the wood that was not in synch with the gusting of the wind, and then the ancient hinges swung freely, revealing the hunched but proud figure of Hoenir, the Silent One.

Wrapped in what amounted mostly to well-worn rags that were caked in a thick layer of snow, Hoenir continued his trek toward the banquet table in the same slow, plodding rhythm. This assembly of exalted personages - both Aesir and Vanir, although not in equal number - shifted fitfully as they waited still longer for an end to all the anticipation. As the lumbering man prepared to take his seat, Thor rose as a respectful host should, but he could not help but notice that his father did not. Rather, the trail of his one visible eye tracked purposefully across the whole of the gathering, his lips pressed into a poorly-disguised smirk. He was waiting for something, Thor realized.

He was waiting for something to happen.

By all rights it should have happened: the figure of the sluggish traveler before them should have faded in a malachitian haze, each drop of light cast off as though it were a layer of incandescent mist and followed by a graceful unfolding of limbs, revealing a being upon the face of which was balanced a familiar, searing grin. There would be a sharp drawing of breath among the others in the room, and then, afterwards, his too-clever sibling would draw back the tails of his coat and take his seat among the others as if he were the guest of honor rather than the uninvited one. Thor was positive that his brother would not allow a slight such as this one to stand, nor would he leave such a challenge unanswered.

In reality, though . . . nothing happened.

There was a continued awkward moment wherein Hoenir removed each protective layer of shabby cloth from around his form, sending sprays of half-melted snow across those within a yard's length of him. He then drew out his chair in order to sit, the legs of the object groaning in sharp protest as he raked them laboriously across the floor beneath. All of this insufferably gradual movement finally culminated in the giant-like man dropping heavily into his chair and then clearing his throat in a most unappetizing manner. Thor and the Allfather exchanged another anticipatory gaze.

Still, nothing happened.

The heir to the throne of Asgard lowered himself tentatively back into his own seat while Hoenir fumbled clumsily with a nearby stein of mead, draining it in several, messy gulps and licking the liquid from the ends of his mustache grotesquely. It was clear that the hermit did not have much cause for social graces, but he did eventually settle against the back of his chair, wordlessly waiting for the conclave to commence. Odin's sly bearing dissolved quickly into something more stormy - perhaps even disappointed. Had his father been relishing a verbal confrontation with his errant son? Whatever he had expected, Odin found that his movements were being tracked by every eye in the room, all waiting for him to begin.

The Allfather folded his hands before him, interlacing his fingers through the layers of his leather gauntlets. "Welcome!" he said suddenly, and although it was no more than a forceful greeting, the words echoed loudly off the corners of the vast hall as if they were borne by a shout. Odin may not have the looming stature or build of his eldest son, but he was able to command attention with the smallest gesture.

"I applaud your willingness to brave these unusual elements in order to be with us here today," the Allfather continued, undaunted. "I know that your efforts to be here were not without peril and much strife. My son and I are most grateful."

 _My 'son',_ Thor noted. As if no other existed. And yet still there had been no disturbance of the silently rapt assembly. The Thunder God found his hands curling into painful fists beneath the table. This was wrong . . . all wrong. His brother's absence was like a gaping wound in the otherwise quiet nobility of this gathering, and it was exceedingly painful to endure a meeting of the Aesir without him. Yet the urge to land a blow across the sharp angle of his sibling's jaw should he choose to show himself was also more than tantalizing.

"There have been some peculiar developments as of late that have become deeply distressing to the citizens of Asgard and beyond," Odin continued in his robust voice. "Not the least of which is this nasty turn in the weather." There was a reassuring chuckle at the end of this statement, a nervous but welcome break in the tension that was emulated by the other attendees. He then raised his hands in a quieting gesture. "In all sincerity, I think we are aware of the gravity of what is happening here, although I would advise a cautious approach at this juncture." There was some anxious shifting in seats as Odin paused in his address. An unfortunate and particularly forceful gust of wind rattled the doors of the Hall at just that moment. Thor was doing his best not to feed the nerves of his peers by looking jovial, but the effort was strained.

"I know there are many among you who have heard prophecies that begin with such an event as we are experiencing now, although these predictions do not always agree on the cause or even on the outcome," continued Odin. "The most prominent of these involves a 'mighty winter' that will last for many seasons and that will culminate in a great battle of the Vanir and Aesir against our enemies from many worlds. Some would even have us believe that the result of this conflict would be the ending of the Nine Realms altogether." There was another pause either for effect or in order to carefully choose his words. "And that is not even the limit of what we have been hearing as of late."

Thor took a long, measured drink from the flagon at his elbow. He settled his hands in his lap like a nervous child and then corrected himself by balancing his elbows on the table. He attempted to look placid, thoughtful . . . and yet he knew the apprehension behind his eyes would not hold up to close scrutiny. His father resumed his speech about the list of odd occurrences around the realms: the subtle darkening of the World Tree, the return of carrion birds to nesting places they had not chosen in centuries, and the restless rumblings of the Fire Giants of Muspelheim to name a few. Yet Thor's head was vibrating with a torturous mass of indistinguishable emotions wreathed in one unrelenting thought: _this is not right_. _He should be here_. Even as an outcast, he would know more about many of these things than anyone at this table.

Thor pressed his palms subconsciously to his temples and sighed, failing to notice that his father had finished his opening words and that the room had broken out into a hum of varying conversations, the loudest of which was occurring between the Allfather and the typically demure Freya of the Vanir, whose eyes were almost scalding in their judgment. The first piece of dialogue that had passed between them had been private, but by now she had raised her voice to a volume that mirrored her displeasure. The Thunder God cocked an ear at her sharp voice just in time to hear her chastise the Allfather in a very personal way.

"You vow to protect us?" she scoffed.

"With all the power I possess," Odin replied.

"How could you promise such a thing?" she huffed with a disdainful snort. "You could not even prevent your own son from usurping your identity andyour throne, albeit briefly. He was but a trivial nuisance, and you could not even control _him!_ "

Odin fell silent for a moment, the heat in his eyes betraying his anger, although his mouth was dormant. He sat back abruptly and rubbed his index finger across his chin in a manner that spoke as much of his contemplation of the matter as it did his resisting the desire to simply strike her down with the strength that he possessed. Finally, after an agonizing silence during which the remaining guests had broken off their own discourses to witness the climax of this one, he spoke:

"I have but one son. He has made mistakes, but he has never betrayed me."

The unease in the room was palpable, and no one spoke for several moments after this harsh declaration. Thor had a sudden awareness that he was twisting his napkin in his fist as if to choke the life from it.

"Oh, but has he not?"

The voice sent a tremor of both hope and fatality through the core of Thor's soul when he recognized the familiar inflection. The guests at the table remained mute and unmoving, as if they were waiting for a killing blow from behind that they were powerless to prevent.

"Is not his continued - and yet, admittedly, misguided - affection for me an open defiance of your edicts? Did you know he still searches for me? I can see from that affronted look on your face that you did not."

Thor did not raise his head, trying not to confirm his guilt by reacting to this claim in any way. He realized he had probably failed due to the embittered huff that escaped his Father before he responded.

"You were not invited to this Council, son of Laufey. You are also in exile and not permitted within the borders of this land." Odin's voice was flat and authoritative, with no trace of any fatherly attachment in his words. How cruel it was to wound him instead with reminders of both his true heritage and the loss of the only home he had ever known. "You should seek consolation from the knowledge that I allow you some measure of companionship in your exile." The smirk upon the Allfather's lips was one of genuine guile.

"Yes, I do appreciate the gift of two insipid fowl who would no doubt begin to feast upon me the moment I might die." Loki's voice was moving closer now, and some of the members of the assembly had slowly begun to look up at him. Thor, however, had his back to the interloper and could not readily see him from his position. Instead, he glanced surreptitiously at Hoenir just to confirm that he had not transformed. However, it appeared that the Silent One was quite content in his seat, sucking loudly on the bone of a half-eaten stag. So Loki had entered the room without sound, seeming to appear within a clandestine gathering of Aesir and Vanir - among them warriors, sorcerers, and mystics - who were all taken unawares. The strength of Loki's magic these days was staggering, if not a bit unsettling.

"Still, I have not come here to disturb the party, as it were," Loki continued, his words honey-thick with percipient gall. "I am quite aware that I am an outsider and that I am unwelcome here. However, my actual motive for stirring up your little affair was an apparently ill-conceived attempt to assist you in diverting disaster."

The sound of Loki's boots crossing the stone floor informed Thor that his brother was now rounding the far end of the banquet table and would soon be clearly in his line of sight. His head was still bowed towards the remnants of the feast before him, and yet from the edge of his vision he could detect the speaker's movement as he traversed the room, each footfall perfectly poised, his back straight and shoulders squared in a manner that was admirably proper but still borderline imperious. The swing of his arms was fluid, confident - not the least bit intimidated by the audience that he addressed, with just enough swing in his hips to let the others know that he had come here completely prepared for whatever they chose to throw at him in return.

"And yet still you have come," Odin replied, his words just as robust and steady as they had been before. "So if you have information that is relevant to our discourse then you may as well enlighten us with it. After you have impressed your intellectual superiority upon each of us in turn, that is." Nearly a third of the attendees snickered openly at this barb.

It was so obvious to Thor in moments such as this exchange that, although they shared no blood, Loki and Odin were similar in so many ways. They were both arrogant to a fault but clever enough to convince others to overlook it. They could also both volley and return words in an argument like masters of their craft.

"Since time is short," Loki retorted, undaunted, "let us just assume that as fact and press on then, shall we?"

His brother's silhouette was now passing directly ahead of him, and Thor cautiously peered under the curve of his eyelids to determine if Loki was attempting to make eye contact with him. He was not: his demeanor was stoic, indifferent, his step graceful but deliberate. He was intent only on the Allfather, his gaze hooked into his target, every muscle contracted in a feline preparation to lunge at not only his chosen prey but any others who might potentially challenge him. At last, he stood mere steps from Odin's seat at the head of the table and directly behind the chair of Freya.

"If you will forgive the interruption," he sneered wryly, while also giving a respectably noble bow. "I might be able to offer you a piece of information that you may find invaluable."

Odin's crooked eyebrow plainly stated that this was not likely, but he nodded to give his permission for the outcast to continue. Loki returned the gesture, but, before he began his revelation, he planted his fingers firmly on the back of Freya's chair, one hand directly to either side of her slender shoulders. To her own humiliation, she flinched slightly at the action, betraying to the room that she was, in fact, intimidated by the being she had just so flippantly insulted. Her cheeks briefly flared a light shade of pink, and she resettled stiffly in her seat. Clearly she was trying to determine if Loki had been present long enough to hear her unkind jab. The mere fact that he had chosen this position from which to deliver his address was proof enough to Thor that his brother was greatly displeased and that this was only the initial step in a campaign of progressive discomfort for her.

"The pathways between the realms are open," Loki then stated emphatically, but the divulgence fell flatly in a room full of perplexed faces. After a few beats of total silence, during which the sorcerer was growing openly annoyed, he leaned further into Freya's personal space and gripped the wood of her chair as if to twist it between his palms in frustration. This time, the Vanir woman jumped quite visibly.

Odin was smiling brazenly again. "I assume these are the 'secret pathways' that you use to travel between worlds unseen?"

"Yes," Loki replied between clenched teeth and still stooped over Freya's position so that his head was just above hers. When his former father began to chuckle derisively, the sorcerer's eyes narrowed, the irises crackling with green fire. "I fail to see the humor in this fact. If there is something additional you would deem to share with me, then please do so," he growled in response.

"Are your pathways not always open when you need them, Loki Laufeyson?" Odin managed between laughing breaths. "Have you have come here to inform us all quite dramatically that these passageways exist or that you have chosen to open them? Are they not unsealed by your magic - or the magic of any other master who happens to know where they lie?"

Suddenly, Loki's body relaxed, and he released his grip on the seat before him. He rose up slowly with placid control, and he took several steps back. Thor's heart dropped into his stomach, for he knew his brother's every movement translated into a very specific demeanor, and this one said: _'Oh, you fool - you have no idea, do you? But I shall take great delight in making you see.'_

"Let me rephrase that for the less knowledgeable among us," he said coolly, and he folded his arms, untroubled. The Allfather's features dropped into a sour scowl at this challenge, and his response caused Loki to smile widely in return. "These paths can only be opened by a master of magic, that is true," he went on serenely. "And yet they stand open - all of them - of their own accord. I have made attempts to seal them myself, but they do not remain closed for more than a few moments."

Finally, there was the look that Thor had been anticipating: it was only a flick of Loki's eyes in his direction, but it was a readable signal nonetheless. After centuries raised together, they had a body language that spoke volumes with minimal motion, and his sibling was subtly imploring Thor for his attention: _'This message is for you. You are the only one I trust to know what must be done, and I have come here to tell only you. The others are merely a complication.'_ He could almost hear these words spoken in his head in his brother's smoothly beguiling voice.

"When these passageways are open," he continued, "you are vulnerable from all sides. Any number of beings - friend or enemy - can cross into Asgard or Vanaheim undetected."

Odin sniffed disdainfully, but his mood did not improve. "Then we will guard the pathways," he scoffed. "I still fail to see why we should be so greatly concerned."

Loki's predatory smile only intensified. "You fail to see the ramifications because you are only examining a single thread of the whole," he teased. "Did you not just relate to us that the Fire Giants are stirring for the first time in centuries?"

This image caused an uneasy silence among the spectators.

"Must I remind you that Muspelheim is a world, just like Asgard? And I assure you that there are pathways that run between that forsaken place and all the other realms as well." This declaration was largely unnecessary as his audience had made that logical jump before he had even spoken. Even Hoenir paused his feasting as the truth spread among the attendees.

"It would seem that I may now have your attention. Therefore, I will take the opportunity to introduce an even more disturbing notion: why _are_ such numbers of carrion-eating fowl seeking to roost within our borders after so many years?"

The sorcerer stepped toward the table again, creeping up to the back of Freya. He then leaned very deliberately near to her and stated, in a very audible whisper, " _It is almost as if they ar_ e _waiting for something_." The Vanir woman could not disguise her sense of loathing at having him speak so intimately near her ear.

"Something upon which to ruminate, anyway," he finished. He then lowered the volume of his words so that only Freya could hear him and whispered something that caused her to blush more visibly than before. Although inaudible to the others, Thor was able to read the words upon his wicked lips: " _Sorry to be such a 'trivial nuisance.'"_ From that proximity it must have sounded like a hiss to the Vanir woman - which, of course, was precisely the intent. Loki turned to make his exit then, but his progress was halted by a forceful word from the Allfather.

"Stop!"

The abrupt manner in which Loki did so harkened back to the strict obedience he had paid to his father in the past, and he had plainly done it on instinct.

"I appreciate the trouble that you have gone to in order to bring us this information," Odin said with a gentleness that was uncharacteristic. "However, I must remind you of an unfortunate fact." He nodded to the two guards on either side of him at the head of the table. Loki, having turned away, did not see this development. The Einherjar moved swiftly toward the sorcerer, still frozen in his place. "You have been exiled from this kingdom and have been forbidden to return under sentence of _death_." The last word was spoken so maliciously that the final 'th' lingered heavily in the air.

There was the scraping of a chair being pushed roughly back from the table, and it was several heartbeats before Thor realized that it had been his. He was standing with the eyes of all in the room on him save for his brother's, in open defiance of his father but unable to speak out against him. His throat had gone so dry that his mouth opened, but he could manage no sound. It was not until the guards were almost upon his brother that he finally produced a word.

"Wait!"

Although he was not the king of the realm, his status was enough to give the soldiers pause. Loki's rotation to face them was agonizingly slow, but when he did, there was no dismay upon his features whatsoever.

"You cannot do this," Thor was able to continue, although the resonance was stilted.

"Whyever not?" Odin laughed proudly. "He has violated his sentence and thus should suffer the consequences according to my decree."

"It pains me to say this," Loki replied, "but Thor is right. You _cannot_ do this."

The guards looked from one to another weakly, unsure of how to continue. Loki then took several steady steps toward the Einherjar, his face a threatening mask, and he raised a hand to attack, a beautifully edged dagger appearing in his grip as he approached. The guardsmen recoiled from the motion but held their feet steady upon the tiles. Just as the sorcerer was about to make contact with his prey, he stopped and extended his arms outwards from his shoulders, tipping forward as if he were plunging from a precipice. At the moment of impact, his body transformed into dozens of ravens, their wings flapping violently as they rose above the hall. Loki's unsettling laugh was impossibly loud in the chamber, seeming to be everywhere at once, and yet to grow ever more distant by painful degrees. As the birds were disappearing into the thatching of the roof, their forms dissolving into a luminous green haze, his voice was heard once more, as clear as if he were sitting among them : "Because I was never here."

It had been illusion, all of it.

Once again, Thor was astounded by the depth and capacity of his brother's magic. Of course, the fact that it had all been pretense implied that he was still outside the city, and the words that he had hoped they would exchange would have to wait.

The room was now in chaos - Vanir shouting at the AllFather, raised voices of the Aesir against the Vanir, Aesir nearly coming to blows with other Aesir - but Thor was no longer compelled to remain at the assembly. He had a task that had been given to him, whether he was agreeable to it or not: he needed to find a way to close the pathways between worlds or at least to contain them for the time being. Of course, there was also the simple matter of stopping the coming of the end of their universe.

The fair-haired god strode deliberately through the corridor that ringed the covered section of the battlements, pausing before an entry to a small balcony which could be used to both spot and target intruders in the event of an attack . The groan and swirl of the wind was waning now; lately, its intensity could strengthen and then abate without warning. Each day, Thor reminded himself, the air grew colder, and the moments of respite from the storm were lessened. If this winter was the harbinger of a great destruction then its message was certainly clear: every day it was growing nearer.

His beard and plaits quickly became encrusted with snow, and the whipping of the flakes against his face made it difficult for him to maintain open eyes. Still he searched what faces of the distant mountain range he could discern from where he perched, a gnawing ache beginning to sink beneath his chest. " _Where are you, Loki?_ " he whispered into the wild air. Even after all the grief that he had endured because of his actions, Thor was still agonizing over his brother's safety. Yes, Loki was mad and arrogant and had the ability to conjure mayhem with a mere handful of words, but there was a piece of Thor that would never be whole while they remained apart. The reality of this fact incensed him, considering how he would never be able to pin his tricky sibling down or make him stay even if he were somehow allowed to return from his exile. He was much like this wind, Thor surmised, as he could be at once destructively violent, and the next moment weakened and howling as if gravely wounded. Yet what he could never, ever be was predicted or controlled. Still, there must be a way to find him - to speak to him, at the very least.

 _If one were going to find the wind_ , Thor wondered, _where would he start?_


	4. Part 1: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

A Place for Creeping Things

I remember that the air was heavy with humidity, and the stickiness clung to my skin like a thick film of dread. I could hear several steady columns of dripping liquid that echoed from a number of directions, and yet I did not sense that they were in close proximity to me. I reached out in the pitch blackness for Thor's arm, but I was only able to grasp a bit of the fabric of his sleeve before he advanced any further into the darkness.

"Are you certain that this is wise?" I asked softly into the obscurity.

"Since when are you so concerned about 'wise'?" he laughed in return. "Were you not the one who once suggested that we abandon one of father's most prestigious victory banquets in order to pursue those maidens?"

"And it was worth it, was it not?" I whispered back. At the present moment I was not at all interested in that experience, pleasant though it had been. I was far more troubled by the pervasive feeling that we were being observed, and, beyond that, there was the evolving perception of a threat - a burgeoning apprehension that was wriggling its way into my subconscious.

Thor and I had been just on the cusp of manhood then (which was equivalent to decades old in Midgardian terms) but our bodies had not yet quite fully developed, lacking both a layer of muscle and a bearing of confidence that only the passage of time could fully establish. I, however, had developed a sense of caution that my elder sibling had yet to fully obtain.

"What is the matter, brother?" Thor goaded me. "Are you afraid?"

"Of course not," I shot back, trying to sound harshly offended. "It is more the repercussions when we return home that concern me. Mother is going to be very displeased."

"Well, you could have stayed behind."

I scoffed audibly at the idea, while still keeping my voice as close to a whisper as possible. "Hardly. I could not simply allow you to go into this place by yourself. You would never come out." Although my brother could not see me in the darkness, I knew that he could perfectly envision the smugness of my face.

I remained as close to the cave wall as I could manage, following both Thor's careful footfalls and the faint sound of his breath. The stone was cool, like the streams that flow through the high mountains, and my mind was having no difficulty conjuring images of what moist, slithery things might be clinging to surfaces around me.

"There," Thor said finally. "I can see some light." He was probably pointing, I surmised, although it was no aid to me whatsoever. I moved forward cautiously, and, as I did so, one of my previously-imagined slimy creatures slipped quickly between my feet, the abrupt feel of its tail brushing against the leather of my boots causing me to nearly cry out before I could steady myself.

Eventually, I did begin to see a glow that was faintly visible but still many yards ahead. Moving closer, I could see my brother's fair head in the dimness, and he was advancing toward the light at an imprudent pace. "Thor!" I hissed as loudly as I dared, but he was to the lit opening long before I could have stopped him.

"There are several different corridors here," Thor said with greater volume than he had previously risked, likely because the warm glow of light was giving him false comfort. "I'm going to go a bit further."

I raced to reach the opening then, to try to stop my foolhardy sibling from charging into unfamiliar territory. "Stop, you imbecile!" I cried out. "You are going to get us killed!" When I emerged from the passageway, I could finally assess my surroundings, although the light remained quite faint. There were indeed three other openings, the halls of which could lead for miles for all we knew. I leaned against the far wall and sighed testily, folding my arms and giving the wall behind me a firm kick with the heel of my boot. The sound of trickling water was more prominent here, and the walls were coated intermittently in a grey, moss-type growth. "You could at least have told me in which direction you were going!" I protested into nothingness.

I could hear the distant echo of Thor's steps, but the reverberation made them seem as if they originated from any number of points around my current position. " _All of this nonsense because Thor wants to know his fate_ ," I murmured to myself. If he did not return within the next few minutes, I swore that I was going to determine his fate myself, and it would be a violent one, to be sure.

Mother should never have told us about this cave, I lamented. To tell Thor that he must never go to a specific place was like dangling meat before a starving dog and directing it not to salivate. Truly, it was only a matter of time before he came to me and asked me to accompany him, and I really should have said no. Yet there has always been a tiny voice of curiousity in me that I listened to despite its slightness, and this, coupled with my genuine desire to ensure that if Thor was getting into trouble that I should be with him, had led me into folly numerous times in my early years. It was not until centuries later that I attempted to separate my identity from his in some vain effort to convince my 'father' that I was worthy to rule.

Losing my mother's affections, however, was never a question. Although I was almost certain to suffer her wrath if (or, rather, when) we were discovered to have taken this little expedition, her devotion was unconditional, even if we had disobeyed her express instruction not to come here. The words, 'forbid you' and 'make you regret it' had come up more than once in her initial lecture, and I shook my head again, wondering what could possibly have possessed me to come along.

There was a Norn here, Frigga had said - a keeper of the fates of men. She had once been a great seer to whom pilgrims from within the realm would journey in order to know what might come to be. However, her visions had eventually become numerous and overwhelming, invading her thoughts unbidden at all hours of the day and night, and thus driving her first into madness and then into isolation. The result was that she had retreated deep into this cave where the desires of others could not reach her. The tales said that those who entered her lair searching for their fortunes did not return. Thor, of course, believed that he was immune to peril of any kind and had become instantly obsessed with the concept of knowing his destiny.

I exhaled heavily and folded my arms in a gesture of irritation. It was then that I noticed a long, stick-like insect creeping slowly across my left forearm. I brushed it away with equal measures of disgust and annoyance and then set my mind back to trying to listen for any sign of my infuriating brother. I did not hear anything beyond the aforementioned dripping - but I did _feel_ something. Not physically, mind you, but there was a sensation that something was around me, like a field of energy was trying to approach me without my knowledge. I was just learning to use my powers in those days, but I was already able to sense the presence of foreign magic with some clarity. This presence, I realized, was the weight that had been filling me with so much unease since we had breached the entrance to this forsaken place.

"Thor?" I whispered desperately into the murkiness. I was hoping against hope that he would somehow hear my tiny plea if it carried throughout the walls of the corridors around me, but the sound died almost instantly - the energy had stopped it. I planted my palms firmly against the wall at my back and tried to flatten myself to it as much as possible, but the force only continued to advance upon me. It stopped when it was a hair's breadth from my cheek, causing nearly imperceptible ripples of current to brush against my skin. It then travelled from side-to-side in smooth arcs, sizing me up and trying to determine what I was and if I was potentially a threat. It sensed my developing power, I discerned, and it was deciding what to make of it. Without warning, it pressed itself against my chest and then - well, the feeling was as if the cloud was seeping into me, judging the strength of my abilities from within. It was a cold sensation, almost visceral in its nature, and it extended out into my limbs like mucid tentacles, the invasive nature of this intimacy leaving me shuddering with revulsion.

The crushing press of the magic became too much for me, and I forced it away with all the talent that I possessed at the time, which was just enough to stun it briefly so that I could make my escape. I turned on my heel toward the passageway that I knew to be the exit, suddenly colliding with clammy flesh. I must admit that a cry of surprise fled my lips as I stammered back several steps. Before I could react further, a hand was at my throat, clenching it but not yet pressing down with the iron strength that I could detect within it. In the dim light, I could see that it was a female, her clothing tattered and befouled with layers of filth that must have accumulated over centuries. Her hair was in a similar state, the grimy strands hanging limply across her shoulders and into long, slender columns down her back, the whiteness of the unsullied strands shining so white that they were nearly silver in the half-light of the cave.

She moved her haggard face within inches of my own, her stale, dry breath falling upon my cheeks in frenzied pants. "Pretty, pretty . . ." she said, tilting her head to the side to analyze me further. Her voice was like the parched remains of a long-dead husk, its sound grating in my ears with an almost malign desperation. Her eyes flicked over the length of my body, and their irises were oil-like in their blackness, all reason and dignity having departed long ago, leaving only a need - an unrequited want that its host could no longer even convey. The grip on my neck tightened briefly but then loosened again almost instantly, and I could feel the slide of her sticky skin against my own.

This creature was the Norn, I realized with a wheeze. If the tales were true, both Thor and I were in mortal danger.

For a moment, I tried to form some sort of entreaty for her to spare the both of us, but all that emerged from my lips was a weak moan. To my relief, her hand dropped its grasp from around my throat, and then she just stood, looking up at me with wicked intent. "Yes . . . _pretty_ ," she continued in that barren voice, nodding to herself as though she had made a satisfying decision. "A pretty one has come to me after all these years so that I may consume him."

My breath was coming in involuntary heaves as I reasoned the meaning behind her words.

"He has a power in him - yes, he does," the Norn continued, and her eyes raked over me again in a manner that I felt was nearly indecent. "I could extract it - yes, I could," she rasped, raising a hand to my face and grazing my cheek with a stuttering exhalation. "Use it for myself. The potential that moves through him could sustain me for eons."

In truth, some of what she was saying to me should have been flattering, but my mind was perfectly centered on a single supplication: _''Thor, come back! Where are you, you imbecilic ass!'_

"Did you come to hear your fate?" she gasped, a rapacious grin playing upon her features. "If so, then you have wasted your time, my lovely, for I can tell you what your end will be using no power at all. You will die in my arms with a smile upon those sweet lips. Here, let me show you . . . " I was jolted then by both the feel of her palm pressed firmly to my brow and the burst of magic that infiltrated me as she did so; it seemed as if I were being consumed by an icy fire, the vines of energy branching out into every extremity and seeking out a single piece of my being. I felt nauseated, faint, and consumed by the frigid burn from her probing over every inch of my soul while it plundered what it was seeking. The press of her foul body against my skin was simply another repellent violation as she did so.

My mind was filled with innumerable images: the palace in Asgard razed to ashes; armies of Einherjar fighting and dying by the dozens; Aesir and Vanir warriors clashing with unknown foes while the valkyries wheeled overhead like expectant scavengers; the hand of a fire giant gripping the peak of a mountain outside Asgard and heaving himself over the rocks to join the fray. The information passed before me in such haste and in such great volumes that my head felt like it was swelling, and my heart was thundering forcefully against my ribs. The visions continued: Thor alone against a dozen fire giants, his brow dripping with sweat and hunched with exhaustion; myself standing on the cliff above a dusky battlefield, my hands gripping an object of great power that I could not quite discern. Then nothing - no images, just the impression of pure ice running through the veins of my arms and the searing coldness that it left in its wake.

And then it was over.

The Norn lurched back in a violent motion, creating a distance of several feet between us. Her face contorted into a look of horror and despair. "You!" She pointed a reedy finger at me in accusation. "You are the one!" she denounced, and she pulled her threadbare shift flush to her emaciated form. "You will be the cause!"

My body felt as if it were spinning, my balance sabotaged by the quick burst of energy and its hasty withdrawal. I stumbled a few steps forward on what I thought was the floor directly before me, but my disorientation caused me to list crazily to the right. I collided with the cave wall and clung to it, breathless and reeling. The Norn approached me again, cautiously, but she did not dare come as close as she had before. "Wh-what . . ." I stammered, rubbing my arms as if they still contained the frigid burn from the vision, ". . . are you . . . t-talking about?" I managed between difficult breaths.

"You will be the one to begin it!" she shrieked accusingly.

"Begin what?" I asked again, desperate now to know the meaning of all that I had seen.

"The end of all things," she breathed, her eyes locked on me with naked contempt and that damning finger aimed at me once more. " _Rag-na-rok_." Each syllable of this word was deliberate and vicious, and her stance remained determined.

I had heard this word before, but only in the context of false prophecy. In the ancient tongue it translated to 'the Twilight of the Gods,' which our ancestors had interpreted to mean the end of their civilization. Arrogant, perhaps, to equate themselves to deities, but it was no less than the people of Midgard had done for long centuries. Although my brain was still quite foggy, I made another attempt to stand upright, only to lurch forward and nearly collapse into the form of the ancient woman who hissed and then sidestepped me, causing me to fall face first onto the chilled stone below me. When I looked for her again she had presumably fled, for I was alone again at the crossroads of the pathways.

 _Ragnarok._ The end of all things.

This idea was madness - I was not consequential enough in this universe to be so significant to the fate of the realms. I was practically a boy, and I could barely wield any magic at all. It was unthinkable - laughable, even - that I could be the catalyst for ultimate destruction. I was a petulant child who was exasperated with his brother. I was no villain.

I rose gracelessly to my feet, more steady than before but now shivering in the dimness. I felt desecrated - gutted from within and then tossed aside to bleed to death in the damp and the darkness - and no matter how tightly I gripped my elbows, I could not quell the shaking that had now overtaken my entire body.

A hand clapped down on my shoulder, and I started, nearly toppling backwards back onto the ground behind me.

"I thought you said you were not afraid?" Thor chuckled as he extended a hand to steady me. His face was beaming with the physical exertion from having explored the caves vigorously during his absence. Once he spied the state of my condition, however, his features melded into a look of sympathetic distress. "What is it, brother?" he asked, tightening his hold on my shoulder in his concern. "You do not seem well."

I leaned against his chest for what I hoped would be only a moment, but I lingered there for a humiliatingly long time. The continued wracking of my body with convulsive shudders eased but could not be entirely quelled, and when Thor took my face in both his hands and tilted it towards him, the horror of my experience was distinct upon it.

"Are you alright?" he asked with uncharacteristic tenderness. "You are trembling."

"Just take me home, p-please," I whispered. "Please . . . t-take me home."


	5. Part 1: Ch 4

~~Chapter 4~~

In the Book of Things That Are Forgotten

The storm had abated for nearly four whole days, and the citizens of Asgard were developing an uneasy sense that perhaps the worst of the cold was over. Thor, however, held out no hope that the winter had faded - far from it, in all reality - although the lull had allowed him some additional breathing room in which to find his absent brother. The confrontation in Thrúdheim had called unwelcome attention to Thor's continuing efforts to recover Loki, and so he was compelled to enlist some ancillary manpower to aid him in his quest.

Or woman-power, as it were.

She was not as easy to summon as Thor might have hoped, but the effort would be well worth it in his estimation. He had sent Hogun, since only the most stoic and trusted of his companions would be able to brave both the distance and the peril of the ascent into the mountain lairs of these valiant but unpredictable warriors. By the time his friend had made the long, dangerous ascent up the rock face to the largest and most foreboding of these nests, the temperature had begun to descend again, and the darkening sky warned of further and equally terrible snows.

Had the request come from any other soul in Asgard, she would not have heeded it, and yet Thor knew that she would come if it was he who asked it of her. In the past, there had been another voice that would have persuaded her hence, but his fall from grace had closed that door, perhaps entirely. Still, he might need to exploit any remaining affections for his own purposes - but only this once, he vowed.

Thor heard her boots light heavily on the terrace outside his study, and he steeled himself for the resulting confrontation. As she crossed the stone tiles to engage him, he could hear the light brushing of her wings as they folded against the leather that adorned her back. "Odinson," she addressed him formally, her words more like a stinging accusation than a greeting.

"Lady Valkyrie," the Thunder God responded, trying to sound as appreciative as these few words could convey. "I am pleased that you have heeded my requ-"

The ringing of steel echoed in the chamber as she drew her sword and placed the tip of it squarely at this throat. "You will tell me why you have summoned me here, swiftly, and then I shall take my leave as quickly as I came." Her grey eyes were pure resolve.

"Of course, my lady," he responded between gasping breaths. With each inhalation the honed steel pricked the skin of his throat, and he had to call upon his will not to retaliate against such a blatant threat. He hesitated for a few moments to draw his breath and carefully choose his words, but her impatience was as menacing as her beauty. She rested the point of her weapon firmly against the protrusion of his voicebox.

"I'm waiting."

"I need your help," Thor answered, the sharp object against his skin increasing his urgency. The warrior raised one eyebrow at him coldly. "Desperately," he finished.

The blade withdrew by a minute amount, but her crooked eyebrow continued to question his motives. "Speak quickly, Prince of Asgard, and do not attempt any deceptions. What would you have of me?"

"I need your abilities," he choked nervously, the thought of the blade near his skin still very much coloring his words. "Please, Brunnhilde. I would only ask this of you in most dire need."

Valkyrie's grim expression did soften somewhat, and she lowered her weapon to her side. Thor knew that the intimacy of using her true name was a risk, but it was a calculated one. He had seen this woman cut down the enemy ferociously in battle, but he had also seen her cradle a newly born child in her arms with quiet affection. So it was to the latter half of her sensibilities that he was going to appeal now.

"I will give you minutes only," she said, although her tone was still guarded.

"I have need of your superior eyesight, as well as your talents at withstanding harsh conditions. I also need someone who can cover ground at great speed." Thor was forthright but brief, in keeping with her wishes.

"Your task sounds like an arduous one," she replied.

"Indeed."

The winged creature appeared to consider the prospect only briefly and then turned harshly on her heel. "I do not wish to be embroiled in the troubles of the Aesir," she huffed.

"My lady," the blonde man coaxed her, "This errand may very well prevent the ending of the world."

This bold declaration did give her pause, but she was retreating again within seconds. "The end of the world was written long ago," Valkyrie seethed. "I have no desire either to anger the Norns or to alter the design of destiny."

Her continued withdrawal caused him to reel with desperation. What could he say to make her hear? To make her understand that things could simply not end like this, with so much undone and likewise unsaid? His mind swiftly parsed through several different ideas, but the one that he landed upon surprised even himself : forthright honesty.

"I need you to find my brother."

The winged woman stopped abruptly.

"Please, be merciful, my Lady," the Aesir pleaded with her. "I have so little time."

Long moments stretched out while Thor waited for her to respond. When she finally did, it was with a slow turn back in his direction and with an empty expression upon her face. She walked back towards him, her footfalls heavy against the polished stone, and then one hand gripped his face, crushing his cheeks inward in a biting hold. "He is exiled - _banished_ from Asgard. I could no more bring him to you than I could betray my true nature." She then released her grasp as if her boldness had surprised her.

"I do not need you to return him, Brunnhilde." Thor's words were measured, thoughtful. "I just need you to find him. I shall do the rest."

Valkyrie's eyes flashed with an instant of doubt, and he could see her nervously twisting her hold upon the hilt of her sword. "Why would I defy the Fates to find you a traitor and a deceiver?" The distressed contortion of her brow betrayed that she was still considering the prospect, even if the conflict within her was overwhelming. Thor did not wish to use the weapon that he was going to deliver, but he knew that it was his only chance. He could see the folds of her eyes begin to relax as she made the decision to refuse, and so, before she could open her mouth, he delivered it.

"Because you care for him, the same as I do."

The transformation in her was astonishing; it was if he were watching her soul surrender and collapse before him. Her ashen eyes, usually as determined as steel, clouded over as she succumbed to her weakness, and her sword-arm dropped heavily to her side. She expelled a weighty sigh as she wrestled with the possibility that she might actually have to agree. Her misery was as agonizing to witness as it was to experience, he surmised.

"I _did_." There was no shame in this admission, only a hint of suspicion that she might actually be misremembering the truth of her affections. "Past tense," she added, in case that had not been plain.

"He was your friend - your confidante. You saved his life once."

" _Once_ ," she said again with harsh emphasis. "I no longer have any use for him or his endless schemes. To me, it is as if he had never existed."

Again she turned away, but this time Thor's desperation had made him more daring. He reached out and grasped her by the upper arm, his grip firm but measured.

"That is a lie, and you know it."

The woman's eyes spun to meet his, the glint in them a terrible challenge to the veracity of his words. "Do not dare to call me a liar! I turned my back on Loki the day he threatened your life, as did the rest of Asgard. My duty is to the bloodline of Odin and his father, Bor, before him. " Valkyrie wrenched her arm from his grip and looked directly into his gaze. "And to his son, Thor, after him." This admission severed the escalating tension between them, and they broke apart silently, each standing steps from the other, simply staring at the opponent's wordless gaze.

 _So it was to be the killing blow then._

Thor was the first to speak. "I do not believe that you have forsaken him as you claim, and I think that I can offer you proof."

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in a defensive posture. If she had any apprehension that he could provide any evidence to the contrary, it was not written upon her features.

"My brother and I have spent the majority of our hours in one another's company. Sometimes decades would pass without us having been apart."

 _Go on, if you must,_ said the valkyrie's posture. _You have nothing that will convince me._

"However," he said, his voice softening, "There were times when duties of battle or diplomacy divided us. It was then, in my absence, that you watched over him."

Her face remained unreadable at this revelation.

"When I returned from my journeys, I would often steal back into the city, hoping to startle Loki in retribution for the many times he had caught me off guard in the past. Sometimes I would find him sitting silently in the garden at dusk, listening to the music of the insects and lazily casting illusions with his radiant magic, the faint glimmer reflecting in his eyes. You were always there, in one of the many shadows of the surrounding buildings, watching him. You were so intent on shading yourself from him that you did to notice my approach, but I never failed to detect your presence. As soon I showed myself, however, you would steal away, without exception."

Now she was beginning to seem anxious, her hands seeking out the flesh of her biceps and rubbing them absently. "I was sworn to watch over him by Queen Frigga, and I obeyed her as I pledged that I would." Her resolve seemed to surface again, and she bit her lip stubbornly. "And yet that is only half of the truth," she confided. "I was sworn to watch over you, as well."

"Yes. I was aware that you were near when I was closest to danger, but I never caught sight of you during those moments." He gave her a gentle but perceptive grin. "And yet I must doubt that you looked upon me half so keenly as you did my brother."

 _Was that a hint of pink upon her cheeks?_

He continued quickly before her unease could ignite an urge to flee. "You have come to me expeditiously when you were told that I needed your aid. Are you denying that you would do the same for Loki if I had been exiled, and he was standing here before you, pleading for your assistance?"

Valkyrie's faced compressed into an exasperated scowl. She sheathed her blade and then twisted a hand in the hair at the top of her head subconsciously. "You are relentless, Odinson." Her frustration was plain in her tone but so was the beginning of her submission.

As if to prove her accusation, Thor continued his verbal offensive. "You care for him still or you would not be so conflicted."

"Or perhaps I simply find it difficult to defy the will of the Prince and heir."

 _Stubborn creature,_ Thor lamented.It was not his wish to cause her any further discomfort, but she kept insisting on forcing his hand.

"He was the only person in Asgard whose company you every sought willingly," the Thunder God replied.

"There was nothing between us, if that is what you are implying." Her inscrutable gaze was now crackling with dispute. "We were companions, Odinson. Nothing more."

"I would not do you the injustice of presuming anything else," he assured her.

Her cheeks flared again, but this time in anger. "I walked that traitor from the Bifröst to the palace without complaint; I ensured that he did not slip his chains until he was deep in a cell from which he was never intended to return." The words were spilling out of her in a contentious rage. "I did not try to console him. In fact, I never gave him a word of acknowledgement. I cannot be accused of retaining any affection for an enemy of the realm such as that one."

Thor sighed and shook his head gently. "I will not contest that you did your duty, my Lady. You performed all of the deeds that you just recounted with composure and aplomb."

"Then allow me to take my leave."

"I shall, but only once I have been permitted to finish my appeal. You see, you are not the only one who watches others from afar," he said gently.

Her right eyebrow arched worriedly.

"I followed you after you left Loki to his fate in that cell."  
If he was not mistaken, her eyes then widened in carefully guarded surprise.

"I saw you return to the bench in the garden where he would often linger."

Her shoulders drooped and her eyes sought the floor, presumably aware of what was coming next.

"And then, when you were convinced that no one could observe you, I watched you sit upon the spot that he would occupy when he came there, and I saw what I know to be the act of one who has lost someone she has loved, irrevocably."

Her head shook so slightly that he was almost unsure that he had seen it. Her face was hard, immobile. Yet her eyes told the tale that her tongue would not: they were wide and expressive, each of them bearing a confession that she could not willingly make.

So he did it in her stead.

"There is no shame in that act, Brunnhilde," Thor breathed, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "When I knew that he was lost to me, I wept as well."

***.*.***

Valkyrie departed that very night, just as the ferocity of the winds was beginning to crest. Had it been anyone but her, Thor would have worried greatly for the safety of his messenger, but the circumstances he had seen this winged being overcome in the past were nothing short of miraculous. Even as she took flight, he watched with awe as she unfolded her broad wings, the muscles that connected them to her torso undulating with graceful power like the flanks of a horse in full sprint, and she cut through the tempest as if it were a routine act. She quickly faded into the churning snow, but he could hear the mighty beat of her wings for long moments afterwards. When she was all but out of the range of his hearing, she loosed a forceful cry that was not unlike the ones he had witnessed her kind giving as they descended into battle; the terrible sounds from a wall of such warriors could sometimes shatter the line of the enemy before the fighting even began.

The agreement between them had been resolute on her part: she would ascertain Loki's whereabouts and then report them back to Thor. However, she would neither approach him nor try to engage him in conversation as his manipulative tongue was a notorious foe, and she would not give others any reason to doubt her loyalty to Asgard and its king. Once she had determined his location and passed it on to the prince, she would return to her home in the high mountains, and her vow was to be considered completely fulfilled.

And Thor would never ask for her aid again.

Although this final condition was grievous to him, he could hardly refuse her. After all, if she failed, then it was likely that the realms would no longer exist and any arrangement between them would be rendered irrelevant. Therefore, he could only watch her go, whispering a traditional prayer of good fortune into the air at her back before he crossed again into the shelter of the Hall. He shook off the bone-deep chill and brushed the evidence of having been out-of-doors from his tunic as he travelled to the rooms he was currently using as his chambers.

The main room was a small but well-furnished one, and it had often used by one of the princes when they would entertain diplomats in Thrúdheim. Adjacent to the sleeping quarters was a modestly sized study, which Loki had filled with so many books that it appeared to have become a dedicated library. The table in the center of this space, however, was coated in maps-some rolled upon themselves, some completely opened, and others in a state somewhere inbetween. It had been Thor who had enjoyed these beautifully illustrated depictions of various pieces of the Realms, not just for studying as strategic aids in battle, but also for their delicate detail, their ornamentation, and the fine brushwork that was required to create the intricate borders that surrounded them. It was one of the few hobbies in which he had indulged for which Loki had not scoffed at him.

Thor did not sit at the map table; rather he placed himself behind the heavy, utilitarian desk nearest the wall that was most heavily covered with books. He ran his hand listlessly over the frayed edges of their untended spines but did not give any heed to their titles. Some were too worn to discern anyway, but many of the others were in languages that Loki had studied but that Thor had never learned. It was only by chance that his eye happened to rake across a tome that was in his native tongue and whose subject had suddenly become quite relevant, indeed.

 _Prophecies of the Norns._

It had been his brother's property, about this there could be no question. Several pages were dog-eared in a manner that Loki had used to hastily mark items of interest when his studious mind was chewing through information at an exhausting pace. There were also a few scant notes scribbled in the margins, the script haphazard but unmistakably Loki's. Thor leafed through the contents wistfully, lazily perusing the old-fashioned manner of its simple illustrations and scanning the chapter titles with little interest. Until, that is, he came across a word that drew his gaze and stopped his breath:

 _Ragnarok._

He quickly devoured the pages behind it, gently teasing himself that he was focusing just as intensely as Loki would when some passage had caught his attention. It was the standard fare regarding the end of the worlds from the viewpoint of the Aesir, although some recent events were also included: the Winter, the carrion birds, the incremental demise of Yggdrasil. Yet beyond this familiar prelude there were occurrences that were simply implausible, such as the poisoning of the sky by an enormous serpent, the consumption of the Allfather by a mighty wolf, and the Jötnar becoming allied with an army of the dead sent by Hela against Asgard. It read like a child's collection of morality tales, the circumstances both far-fetched and intentionally simplified so as to be directly uninterpretable. Still, his brother had obviously taken great interest in this particular chapter as his markings were everywhere, both within the paragraphs and in the spaces adjacent them, and they were often drafted so rapidly that they were illegible.

Loki was not one to take much stock in predictions or superstitions, and so his focus upon this section was puzzling. The description of the impetus for all this destruction was also quite ambiguous. It was conveyed in words that were only translatable in the 'Old Tongue', which was the language of his warrior ancestors from millennia ago, the roots of which still formed the words that his people used today. Here, the catalyst was often referred to as 'Leuge,' which roughly translated to 'The Breaking,' and it was described as a force of chaos. First, it would cause destruction on Midgard, and this ruination would then trigger the awakening of the forces of Hel and all that would come thereafter. Thor was fuzzy on the exact interpretation of much of the etymology, but he could glean some bare details that led him to believe that this entity was an uncontrollable force of mayhem that would unleash itself upon the worlds, culminating in the ultimate extinction of life in the Nine Realms.

Across from the description of the beginning of the Ragnarok cycle was a note that his brother had underlined twice, and the letters were larger and more desperate: _"Would Karnilla know?"_

That name sent a tremor through him that felt ugly and perverse, and yet, somehow, it also lit a tiny glimmer of hope in him that he did not expect to experience until Valkyrie's return. Was this a clue to Loki's whereabouts during his isolation?

Would he seek counsel from the Queen of the Norns?


	6. Part 2: Prologue

~~Part II~~

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful,

The eye of a little god, four-cornered.

- _Mirror (Excerpt)_ by Sylvia Plath

So, yes, I did already know a bit about Ragnarok.

Of course I knew what that batty cave-dweller had conveyed to me, and, although I was undoubtedly shaken, the memory of the experience eventually faded until it was no more than a distasteful memory. The passage of a few dozen years is sufficient to reduce the most unpleasant of recollections into a much less vivid event and color the remembrance of deep emotions into a dim variant of its true experience. So it was with me, and I passed slowly into the earliest years of my young adulthood with barely a thought about what had transpired in that cavern. It was another ten years before I was sorely reminded of what I had witnessed, and it occurred, unsurprisingly, in a most unsettling way. Yet that is a tale for a time that shall occur soon enough.

Just now, however, I feel I need to explain about Valkyrie. Thor was correct in saying that she once saved my life: she had, in fact, plucked me out of the air during a battle when my opponents had forced me off the ledge of a high precipice. I had also been grievously wounded prior to my plunge from the cliff, and it was during my following convalescence that I began to get to know her. She was asked by Queen Frigga to stand watch at my bedside, lest my enemies take advantage of my weakened state to try and finish what they had begun. She had been a dull, stoic companion then, listening to my occasional attempts at conversation with barely a sideways glance.

Refusing to be ignored, I lengthened my diatribes until they were all but incessant, and my choice of topics grew incrementally more banal. In the end she relented, at first providing me with single word answers that miraculously progressed over a matter of days into simple sentences. She was so obstinate that several weeks went by before I could draw her into meaningful conversations - and, believe me, I was quite persistent. By then I was losing my mind from boredom, and I began making numerous bids at trying to slip past her so that I could sit in the gardens, where at least the sound of the birds would offer some mental stimulation. I was also longing to revel in the fresh air that my chambers were so lacking.

The short version of what followed is that I was unsuccessful at trying to slip my warden's leash, which I attribute both to the weakened state of my healing body and the numb stupidification of my idle mind. After about a dozen attempts, my will had finally broken, and I smashed all of my nearby belongings in a fit of rage. I then collapsed back into the bed, my chest heaving and my eyes welling with tears that I absolutely refused to shed.

In the next moment, I found myself suspended in the arms of a powerful being who propelled me through the half-opened window at my right, the sash parting noisily as we burst through. Then we flew the short distance to the Inner Gardens, where Valkyrie lit with impossible lightness upon the cobbled path and laid me easily on the adjacent bench.

I looked around, disbelieving both the quickness of our journey and the fact that she had actually allowed me to leave my chambers. I began to open my mouth to inquire as to why, but she anticipated my question before I could voice it.

"It was the only way to shut you up," she said stiffly. She had once again taken up her post at my side and was looking away from me as she always did.

I laughed briefly before the strain of my recent fit and the lingering wound in my side bade me to rethink that idea. I winced, riding out the sharp pulse of pain where I was stitched, and then went still.

"Thank you," I whispered. She could not possibly know how my pride had suffered from having to say these words.

She nodded gravely in return. "All debts must be repaid," she said.


	7. Part 2: Ch 1

~~Chapter 1~~

The Swift Logic of a Woman

She was the last one Thor would have wanted to encounter before leaving Asgard, and, thus, she was destined to be in his path. If the act that he was about to commit was as reckless as he surmised it to be, then her presence was necessary to confirm his belief that this course was correct. As he rounded the garden path while doing a mental checklist of all the items that he would need to gather to go on this journey, he nearly collided with her form as she stepped boldly out before him, one long, booted leg placed directly where his next step would have fallen. With her arms crossed she had the bearing of a soldier, but the delicate folds of her cloak and the carefree fall of her hair spoke of her feminine grace. She had always been this to him: the perfect blend of warrior and woman.

"And where could Asgard's crown prince be off to in such darkness?" Sif scolded. "And in such weather!" The tone of her voice was only sincere enough to skirt the edge of mockery.

"I have an urgent errand," said Thor curtly, attempting to step around the limb she had extended, only to feel the firm press of her hand against his chest.

"I heard that there was an unwelcome guest at the Assembly." This statement was far more accusation than observation.

"Sif, I promise that I will tell you everything when I return, but now . . . ." He tried to force her out of the way by pressing forward, but she met his effort with an equal strength.

"No!" she demanded, the thin black lines of her eyebrows pinching together in a harsh warning. "You will make me a vow before you depart from Asgard."

As usual, Thor found himself more than impressed with this woman's physical strength; she held him firmly at bay with a solid push and a cold glare. Though he could have overpowered her with a bit more effort, he moved back from her and nodded in acquiescence. "What would you have of me, my Lady?" he asked.

"Promise me that this has nothing to do with Loki."

He shook his head with false laughter.

"No lies," she added harshly, as though she had already detected his intent to deceive her.

 _What inexorable magic dwelled within a woman's intuition?_ He had often experienced the same eerie foresight from his mother when he had intended to mislead her. It had shamed Thor to his very core to convey falsehoods to his mother, and yet it was a power that Loki seemed to be able to wield almost effortlessly. This was why, Thor reminded himself, he always left the lying to his sibling. Honesty, then, was likely the wiser course - although some details may still find themselves untold in the name of a greater good.

"I am going to Nornheim," the blonde man declared. He braced himself for the coming tirade, and yet none followed. If Sif had been Valkyrie, he would already have a split lip and a purpling cheek. This was Sif, however, and so he would be allowed a latitude that others would not grant him, for despite her hardened exterior and her valor in the face of certain death, he had always been her weakness. In order to maintain this as an advantage, however, he must feign as if he were unaware of it.

The female warrior drew a long, heavy sigh. She looked down upon the cobblestones and shook her head, her face molding into a look that was laughing and weeping in equal parts. "Nornheim!" she chuckled, but the sentiment did not reach her eyes. "I have followed you to a number of outrageous places, Thor Odinson, but I shall not -"

"No, you shall not," he interrupted before she could finish her assumption. "I am going alone."

"To see the Norn Queen?" Sif shot back. "She is as mad as she is powerful! You cannot possibly expect to return from such a journey!" Her eyes had grown soft, pleading, and she was on the very edge of revealing the true depth of her affection for her lifelong friend. Then the unyielding mask of a soldier fell over her once more, and she jutted out her chin. "Someone should go with you."

"I will not endanger the lives of my friends with a fool's task." Thor pushed past her again, and this time she allowed him to advance a few steps before speaking her thoughts.

"So this _is_ about Loki, then?"

He was not about to answer that inquiry, but it stopped him just the same. Without turning toward her, he merely stood still, feeling the warmth of humiliation ghosting across his cheeks, and said, "It is about the fate of us all, my Lady." He began to depart again, and he heard the quick sound of her boots on the stones as she hurried to meet his pace. They fell into step with one another but did not look to either side.

"Please, Thor, I am begging you," she said in a near whisper. "Let me go with you."

"You know my answer before I give it, Sif," Thor deflected, increasing his speed to no avail. He was heading for the armory of Thrúdheim, where he would equip himself with weapons and supplies.

"If he were here, you would allow him to go with you," she accused him. There was no need to clarify who 'he' might be: Loki had accompanied him on every senseless quest he had ever undertaken.

Thor paused, his mind momentarily cleared of every thought. He heard the howling of the wind above the gardens, from which they were shielded by a dome of magic courtesy of Odin Allfather. Again, he wondered where in all of this savage weather his unbalanced sibling might be. That person was not his brother - not the same graceful, haughty creature with whom he had crossed many realms. This Loki was a lost soul, for all he pretended otherwise. He was no longer meticulous about his appearance nor mysterious about his habits. Rather, he was a wild thing, hair grown long and carelessly tended, his complexion sallow and his eyes a deep well of hunger - of want. Still, she was not entirely mistaken.

"Were this but a dozen years ago, I would have to agree. Had I undertaken such an unreasonable mission, I would not have done so without my brother. It would have been unthinkable."

The still of the deserted gardens was pierced by the sound of her laughter. "Were this but a dozen years ago, I would swear that he held you beneath the power of some spell! Do you not hear the contradiction in your own words? Hel's depths, Thor!" she chided him. "You are not doing this _without_ him! You are doing this _for_ him! Surely you cannot be so naïve that you do not see that!"

Being called out for his blindness, the blonde man's cheeks flushed deeply again, but he prayed that the reaction had been buried in the darkness of his surroundings. He turned his face to gaze at something random beyond his left shoulder in case it was not.

"I am sorry, Thor," Sif said, her tone more gentle. "I do not claim to understand the affection that ties you to that - that _creature_." As the words left her lips, she raised a hand to cover them, perhaps in an attempt to prevent the sentiment from escaping her that came too late. Thor did not face her, but she could see every sinew in his bulky frame draw taught. When her next words came, they issued from a throat that was dry with fear and regret. "Forgive me," she pleaded, grasping his upper arm gingerly as though it might grow teeth and snap at her. "I did not intend that the way it must have sounded." The dwindling of her reserve only made more plain the truth that she was constantly striving to keep from him: that she held more than just esteem for her ally and friend. She loved him. It was as bare as the pain in her voice.

Just as overtly, she expected his next declaration to be a roar of dissent, but there was no response. He drew himself up to his full height, his figure shown to her only in profile, and one finger hovered above his lips in consideration. She wished that she could read his eyes then, for they never ceased to betray his true thoughts to her. However, she would likely not have wanted to know his exact musings at that moment, as he was splitting his energies between the emerging rage that her slight had stirred in him and the absurd notion that this woman who abhorred his brother with such vehemence was actually Loki's duplicate in many respects. Certainly there were physical similarities, most obviously the pallid skin and the starkly raven hair. Plus, Sif's obstinance and quick intellect were surpassed only by his sibling. And they had always both been fiercely jealous of Thor's devotion to the other. Yet, for whatever attributes she had in common with his brother, Loki's absence created a void that she simply could not fill.

Through bared teeth, he bit back his anger just long enough to begin his reply. "You cannot possibly . . ."

 _Had_ it been a dozen years ago, he would have spilled out his response in a fit of unrestrained malice, expecting to hear no dissent and not caring if he actually received any. Tempering himself, he began again, but more evenly. "Sif," he said, "I do not expect you to understand what is between Loki and I. I can try to convey it to you, but there are truly no words that express it completely. The amusing thing is that he would be far better at explaining it to you than I." He chuckled, but the effort was weak. "But, to further the irony, he would never admit to the depth of the bond that we share." This sentiment was strange on his tongue, as if it were not a lie, but it was not fully truthful, either. Would it seem unnatural to her if he revealed the unusual link between himself and his brother? From the oddly contorted look on her face, it would likely be more so if he did not try to explain it to her in some fashion.

"I do not know how to begin to describe our bond," Thor sighed, his resolve weakening in the face of his uncertainty. "I am not entirely sure that I have encountered its like in the years of my existence. We share no blood - I suppose you have heard that by now." Sif nodded, and they began to walk again.

He was loathe to elaborate on the point about Loki's heritage, simply because he did not know how deep her understanding of the situation went. It was now commonly known among the citizens of Asgard that Loki had been adopted. His madness was typically described as either a mental collapse from the weight of finding out that he was not entitled to the life that he had been given (the official version) or that he had always been unbalanced, and the truth that he would never hold the throne tipped him over the edge into a murderous rage (the more common version). Both tales, in a way, were true, but they simply omitted the most important part of the narrative: that he discovered that he had been born a Jötun, a revelation that was further compounded by the fact that his true father had been the King of Asgard's most despised enemy. This information was then further bundled, rightly or wrongly, (probably wrongly, Thor deduced) with the notion that Odin had saved his life and brought him into his home in order to improve the chance of an armistice with Jötunheim. It was not the only reason - in fact, Thor truly believed that his father had learned to love Loki as he would his own son. Certainly, at times he felt that Odin had been softer on Loki than he had been on Thor. In the past, this disparity had nettled him. Now, Thor only wished that his father had been softer still.

They were approaching the doors to the armory, and he slowed his pace so that they might first finish their conversation. "Even though we are not related by blood, he is still my brother," Thor said. "I cannot convey to you how strange I find that - that I feel linked to him in some fashion. He who is not my kin biologically. Yet I feel him even now - or, rather, the _absence_ of him - as if it were a wound. Perhaps, more like a part of me has been detached and that its lack has left a chasm within me."

Sif stopped before the iron-hinged door to the Hall's weapons and supply cache with a guarded demeanor. Thor allowed her to absorb what meaning she could from his confession as he worked the ancient latch. When it did not give easily, Sif brushed him aside and released it without ceremony.

"You have to pull it a little to the right before you push left," she explained. "It is a bit rusted." She then took a few steps back while Thor swung the door open, the weight of its wood causing the unkept hinges to groan with complaint. He gestured for her to go before him, but she ignored it, her stance remaining stiff with tension. Knowing that it would be futile to continue to insist, he entered first.

As he picked through the limited display of hand weaponry, he could sense his companion shadowing his every step. Several times she paused as if she might speak, but then her face twisted into a look of tormented confusion. She was turning over his confession in her mind, giving fair consideration to the words themselves but still scowling as if they held no meaning. Meanwhile, Thor chose several close-combat blades: daggers, short-swords, and the like. He did not want to be encumbered with large weapons, but he also knew the folly of relying on a single one. Small knives, in particular, tended to be taken away by an enemy or could be left lodged in the flesh of an adversary. Then, of course, he must also outfit himself against a ferocious storm, adding bulk and weight that would only make his journey more daunting.

"So, tell me," Sif finally said, the edge of her reply raw with doubt. "What makes you so certain that you and Loki are . . . 'linked,' as I believe you put it? Could there be something inexplicable guiding your hand or, perhaps, even your thoughts?"

"I know what you are suggesting, Sif, but it is not magic. It is no trick of Loki's that we are joined thus. He desires to be free of it as much as I do."

"How can you be so sure?" Her tone was turning sharply critical again, and yet she was still leading him around the room and filling his arms with the most suitable provisions for his expedition, albeit in a forceful manner. "If I thought for a single moment that my own impressions of this situation would be met with some credence, I would offer them to you." This final declaration was punctuated by a mound of furs being heaved at him, although with enough temperance that they landed in his arms without causing him to drop the supplies he already held. She was holding back, betrayed again by the depth of her own affections. "Yet, I will give them to you, anyway. I think he uses you, Thor. I think he despises you down to his bones, and he manipulates your kind heart in order to draw out your vulnerabilities."

Thor had to move swiftly to intercept the bag of edible roots and dehydrated meats that she flung next. "I think he delights in coaxing out your fondness for him, pairing it skillfully with the guilt that you harbor about his years and years of envy, and then he wounds you to the core, all the while delighting in the little changes on your face as he twists the knife. He is but a predator toying with its prey." A pair of gloves alighted on the pile, skidding to a stop just before it slapped his face. She was still bridling herself. Had her position been reversed with Loki's, he would be splayed out on the floor under half the armory by now.

This notion demonstrated the exact dichotomy that the woman was so desperately trying to impress upon him: Loki would not restrain his blows. For all that Thor claimed his brother was dedicated to him, Loki would hardly forgo any opportunity to injure him if provoked. Yet, somehow, he held his precarious sibling in higher esteem than this woman who was here with him now, counseling him and preparing him for a perilous trek, with her love for him conveyed so exquisitely by her actions. There was no way to accurately relate the truth of it: that he would freely suffer a hundred harms from Loki than remain here, helpless but in the company of those whose devotion he so clearly held. Was this not some form of madness?

"I understand your apprehension, Sif. I do," he tried again, although the sound was now somewhat muffled by the mass of supplies. "I can only offer you the same proclamation that I have before: I just know. When we face one another in conflict, I can read the pain in his eyes, and beneath it there is a struggle to contain his wrath. In my eyes, I know that he sees the twin of his own strife, only in myself it is reflected as a battle not to strike him in return. We are balanced, I suppose you would describe it. It is as though my rise was the cause of his decline, as if his descent into insanity was a product of my own acquisition of the knowledge of what lay beyond my own world. What feeds me devours him." He took a moment to reflect on this idea, and it was so perfectly true that it was freshly bruising.

"It is my conviction that we are entwined by fate," he finished.

"So is this the impetus for your expedition to the Norn Queen? To prove that you are tied to him by some device of the Fates?"

"Not precisely," he deflected. "I have a different motivation for this endeavor."

"Loki asked you to do this, didn't he?" Sif was now examining the edges of his sharpened steel for nicks or dull areas. He could see her determined reflection in the cold steel of the sword she was scrutinizing, and her pearlescent skin glowed in the dim light from the torches. She had always been so beautiful . . . and so strong. Her mind was endlessly clever and forthright, and she loved him. She _loved_ him. Were she called upon to do so, he knew that she would die for him. It should all be so easy.

So why wasn't it?

"Honestly, yes. Loki did ask this service of me."

Sif feigned surprise at this revelation, her hand clasped to her breast and her mouth open in a comically rounded expression. "Surely not," she teased.

"However, it is not as straightforward as you might think. It was more as if he left me a suggestion many years ago that I am just now beginning to unearth. If it gives you any comfort, Sif, I do not expect to find him at the end of this road."

The lady warrior had moved on to the extensive pile of furs he had amassed, and she inspected each for tears and worn areas. There were almost as many pieces that she discarded as she allowed him to keep. "I shall find no comfort until you return intact." She did not dare to look at him as she said this, lest her emotions be easily read upon her features. "Besides," she said, "I know you have already entrusted that task to another."

Thor could have laughed to hear her speak so forthrightly had his mood been lighter. _Of course she knew._ She was Sif. The only person in all of Asgard who was closer to him was his brother - his brother whom he could not trust.

This situation was becoming most bewildering.

"Brunnhilde will find him and then report to me his location. That is the extent of her involvement."

"So her loyalty to you only goes so far?" Sif said. "Did you even consider that she might find herself enamored with him again after all these years? She used to dote on Loki ridiculously, even though I know she would deny it."

"She did."

"I would not put my faith in her lack of involvement. Brunnhilde looks at Loki as she would a pet - as if he were the most perfect, precious being in all of the Nine Realms." She was leading him off toward the stables now, carrying nearly half of his gear as an indication of her loyalty. "I only hope she remembers that her 'precious creature' has claws."

The stables lay beyond the main walls of the fortress, and so they paused at the side gate to outfit themselves against the cold. It was not blowing a full force gale as it had been during last night's drama; however, it was still harsh enough that they fastened a leather belt between the two of them so they would not be separated. There was no purpose to attempting communication, either, for the effort of passing through the high, thick snow required a steady flow of breath, and, whatever sounds they might have made were carried away by the gusts around them.

When the pair had passed within the walls of the animal pens, they finally dared to continue their discussion. "I pray that you know what you are doing," Sif said. She was crossing before the stalls that contained the smaller horses for riding and moving quickly to those that harbored the broader-backed pack animals. "Loki already has you under his spell, and if Brunnhilde falls to his wiles, I shall be left alone to sort out all of this unpleasantness." A cheeky grin crept onto her lips as she said this.

"Oh, do not pretend that you have always been exempt from his charms," Thor replied with a similar smirk.

"When he _had_ them," she stated. "But I do not fear his allure any longer," she teased, "for I know the mind that lies beneath all that appeal." Her expression changed into a somber one. "However, I do worry for _you_ , Thor," she said. They stopped at the end of the row of enclosures between two of the largest horses in all of Asgard.

"I also know his mind, Sif," he assured her. "I will not allow my affection for him to compromise the wellbeing of Asgard. It contains all those most dear to me."

"Well, all except for one. But I suppose I am through lecturing you about him." She swung open the door to the pen at her back, the motion she had used to unlatch it so elegant that it had gone undetected. The pen she had chosen was not the one containing either of the hulking stallions, but rather a large, low animal that was so covered in trailing strands of thickened wool that it looked like a floor mop.

"A mount fit for a king," she ribbed him.

Despite its comical appearance, it was wide and sturdily built. That, along with its thick coat, made it strangely ideal for a trip through deep snow and rocky terrain.

"Is this a goat?" Thor asked as the animal nuzzled his hand. It had two thick, ridged horns that emerged from its head, each twisting in a single spiral and ending in a blunt tip. If there were eyes, they lay buried deep within its layers of string-like fleece.

"He belongs to my father," Sif said. She stroked the crown of the goat's head fondly. When it turned to encourage her attention, Thor was able to make out the brief flash of a large, black eye.

Well, at least his mount would not have to navigate by sound alone.

"Tanngrisnir is a native of the high, snowy peaks where my family has its roots. My ancestors wore their fleece to ward off the intense cold." She was smiling at the puffy beast with amusement. "They must have looked ridiculous!" She ruffled its crown into a round pile of fluff, and her dark eyes danced with the humor of it.

The simple camaraderie of the moment overwhelmed the blonde prince, and he swept his friend up into a warm embrace. He then held her away from his body but still well above the floor and looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Sif," he spoke, a small tremor marring the words. "Thank you for everything you have done for me." He kissed her heartily on the cheek and then set her down.

Her blush was either from the surprise of the action or the intense intimacy of the moment. It did not matter to him which it might truly be.

"Well, you will have to repay me," she chuckled, breathlessly.

"How so?"

That curtain of steely resolve fell over her again, and she met his eyes with a cruel sincerity. "You must return - breathing - to Asgard. And when you do come back -" She hesitated, her lips a line of tension. Then, after a weighted pause she said: "When you return, do not bring Loki with you."


	8. Part 2: Ch 2

~~Chapter 2~~

A Phantom or a Legend Until Then

One of the drawbacks of living amongst a race of warriors is that you must learn to wield a wide variety of blunt, stringed, or bladed weapons and then truly master the ones at which you excel. It is not just a matter of obligation to the legacy of your people but also a necessity if you desire a lengthy lifespan. Children are not immune to the perils of conflict, and they are sometimes even the direct marks of certain acts of war. For princes of the realm this is an even more likely prospect, and we sons of Odin were more than aware of the ubiquitous targets we had become; therefore, we were tested and drilled more frequently in the ways of combat, at times to the limits of even our prodigious abilities.

It was an evening after an exhausting day of battle training when it finally occurred. I had been soaking indulgently in a lengthy bath, not only to remove the layers of sweat but also to ease the aches in my overexerted muscles. It had been my intention to subsequently tear into a volume of history from the palace library, but the effect of the sultry water combining with the fatigue of physical exertion had left me pleasantly drowsy. I was still half-dressed when I slipped into a luscious doze, my body draped lazily across the surface of my bedsheets.

I had not fully emerged from my shallow slumber when I sensed that I was being observed. I sat up abruptly, a sheen of perspiration appearing on my skin, and although there was no cloud of energy this time, I had the same deep-rooted feeling of imminent threat that I had experienced in the cave. My eyes swept the room, but I was disturbed enough that I did not look closely into the folds of the darkest shadows, fearing that something might be lurking there (which, of course, it was). When I could no longer deny the vague outline of a figure in a corner of the chamber, I grappled with the top layer of sheets, my pulse quickening. A gasp may also have escaped my lips, but I was too intent on the shaded impression there in the darkness to clearly recall what reaction I truly had. The dim form was still and flattened against the wall as if it wished to be unseen, its profile nearly wavering in the almost complete blackness around the fringes.

We remained like that for long moments, neither of us moving and each of our gazes locked upon that of the other. Finally, I was able to coax my voice from out of the bone-dry hollow of my throat. "Hello?" I asked, even though I feared any response that I might receive.

The figure detached itself from the wall and drifted forth like something otherworldly. It was not until its outline was halfway across the room that its form was revealed by a beam of moonlight seeping in through the balcony doors. It had a distinctly feminine shape: the hips were wide while the waist was narrow, and she had obvious breasts. And I am not simply implying that I could discern the shape of them through the cloth around her midsection, because the fabric was split provocatively from her throat to her navel so that her feminine assets were, in fact, _obvious_.

The woman stopped in the dim radiance as if she knew that this would allow me to see her completely. She was tall - nearly as tall as I was, which was unusual for a woman, even in Asgard. The fabric of her garment fell at the knee, and her legs were covered by thigh-high leather boots that appeared a deep crimson in the half-light. This effect would have made the whole ensemble more concealing and less brazen if it were not for the long, opened pleats that ran up almost to her hips, exposing flesh that I was trying very gallantly to ignore. In the same garish vein, she had a metal headpiece balanced atop her head that seemed impossibly large for her, the length and breadth of it curling inward into a spiral pattern, vertiginous in its intricacy. She looked at me for a moment before I remembered that I was wearing nothing but my undergarments and moved to shield myself from her with the top sheet. Her arms were crossed boldly, as if she had not just been lurking in the shadows of my bedchambers like a spectre trying to go undetected, her one leg placed forward of the other like she was confident that I presented no threat.

"You are much as my Sister described you," she declared, and her head tilted to further explore my features as I sat awkwardly swathed in my bedclothes. The articulation of the word 'Sister' was odd, as if to express that the two women were of no true relation at all.

A haze of energy nearly identical to what I had experienced in the cave of the old Norn was pressing against me again, only this time the effect was less violative. Unfortunately, it was also more forceful and paralytic, and I was pinned helplessly to the bed for the brief instant it took for the woman to find the information she sought. Yet as she withdrew her magic, I sensed an almost soothing effect, which was likely an attempt to calm me after her invasion of my body, a mercy that the Norn from the cave had not granted me. This action also had another pleasant consequence, because the ache in my weary muscles abated and was drawn out of me along with her powers. Unlike the shabby creature from the cave, this woman seemed untouched by whatever truths she may have mined from me, and she remained standing quite serenely at the foot of my bed.

"You are untrained," she stated coolly.

I was, but I could not reply, since any response I would have made had died in my throat. I was what was known in Asgard as an 'intrinsic': I had exhibited powers without any instruction at a very young age. In fact, I had shown magical abilities much earlier than any sorcerer in Asgard whom history had recorded - including my mother, who was considered exceptional in her youth. What control I had over my magic was innate, and I had never considered that it could be refined by formal teaching.

I nodded.

"I could teach you to be one of the most powerful magic-wielders in all the Nine Realms," the woman exulted. She was now approaching the near side of my bed, and she became even more imposing at a closer proximity. With her form looming over me and her power a blatant manifestation in the room, I felt small for the first time in my life. "What do you think of that, Loki Odinson?" She encircled my chin with one hand and trailed a soft caress down my cheek with the other. Her skin was like satin as she drew it across my own, her touch so light that it seemed a gentle breeze had found me in the darkness. Her very presence was a spell upon me.

I shook off the imagined enchantment. "Then she told you about my destiny?" I rasped, my voice still determined to betray me.

She laughed, and the sound was like a shower of embers falling around me - bright and alluring and yet inherently harmful. "She did not. You see, I do not trouble myself with the fortunes of others the way my Sisters do." Again, the familial term was curious in its inflection. "I am merely their Queen. I can see what they see, but only when I use my power to draw it from them."

"The Norns have no queen," I said, my courage finally rallying.

That dizzying laughter came again. "Yet I have my own kingdom," she asserted. She sat down on the edge of my mattress, and the material barely dipped where she settled. "And, although I do not technically rule the Norns, I do hold sway over them. Thus, I am their Queen until anyone can prove otherwise. But, tell me: is there not something you would have of me?" She had one knee crossed over the other now, and her hands sat laced upon them. Her provocative smile hinted that she was using innuendo in order to taunt me in my vulnerable state.

I was not accustomed to being the victim of verbal manipulation but rather the instigator, and so it was time that I turned the tide on this bizarre exchange. I had subconsciously moved away when she sat, but my hands were still steady, and thus I had not completely shamed myself by this point. I swallowed and willed my fluttering heart to slow. It ignored me.

 _Okay,_ I encouraged myself, _you can do this. There is no real danger. She does not mean to harm you. Show her that you are not timid._ A moment passed - then two, and I had still not done anything but perspire.

Finally, I discovered the wonder of speech. "Yes, there is, actually." There was barely a quiver in this declaration. (Impressive.)

"Oh?" That feral grin crossed her lips again.

I folded my arms in what must have seemed an attempt to look confident, but, in reality, only served to conceal my quivering hands. "You have not given me your name," I said. Had I not swallowed audibly at the end of that request, I might have sounded completely unaffected.

The woman leaned closer to me then, and I angled away by equal degrees. (So much for unaffected).

"I, my dear boy, am Karnilla," she murmured across the dimness of the room. She enfolded my jawline with her thumb and first two fingers and proceeded to gently turn my head one way and then the other, studying my face and then honing in on my eyes, where her gaze remained. "You will be quite suitable," she decided as she released me. "I shall ask for you at first light."

In my agitated state, the words simply tumbled out: "I'm sorry - you will ask _who_ for me?"

"Your mother," she cooed, and she smoothed my hair back along the crown of my head. "You, my darling, will be returning with me to Nornheim."

"Nornheim!" It was such a ludicrous notion and arrogantly presumptuous of her to think that I should leave the city and be separated from my family. Not to mention that my mother would never agree to such a thing. "There is not a chance in Hel," I stated.

**.***.**

"Do not pout so!' my mother warned as she brushed the dust from my riding clothes. "It is not like I

am sending you away for all eternity!"

My mood was wickedly sour. "No, it shall only seem thus."

Queen Frigga smiled and then embraced me warmly. It had always been difficult for me to defy my mother, and, thus my only protest was that I stood stiffly and did not embrace her in return. "Karnilla is quite a skilled sorceress - she is one of the most talented wielders of magic I have ever known. We believe, with the proper guidance, that you could be the equal of any of the mages of the Realm. And perhaps beyond." She patted my arm and then began to curl one hand into the palm of the other in a seasoned gesture of anxiety.

The pair of us were standing outside the East Gate of Valaskialf to await the arrival of my prospective mentor. A small representation of my worldly belongings was wrapped neatly in a roll upon my horse, Sinir, along with the makings for a few small meals along the journey.

"Was this all _his_ doing?" I asked, though the sharpness I wished to infuse into the words was softened before it emerged.

Frigga sighed, and I could sense an imminent reprimand. "This will be beneficial for you, Loki, whether you wish it to be or not. You could do far worse than Karnilla as a teacher."

True (probably). However, I could not resist making the affront from my lack of input into this arrangement clear. "But it _was_ him, was it not? He convinced you to send me."

Another exasperated sigh followed. "Your father made the final decision, yes."

My silence was replete with contempt.

Her shoulders dropped and so did her resolve. "Loki," she whispered as she lay her head against the curve of my upper arm. "I would not have allowed this if I did not concur with the logic of it. However, it _**was**_ your father's encouragement that bade me to ultimately agree."

"Oh, was it?" I replied testily. I then rested my head upon her own in a gesture of affection, even though I knew that doing so would cause the irritation in my words to bear no weight.

"Your father believes that you are too frequently in the company of your brother. His companions have become your own, and you are quite often embroiled in his adventures. He fears that you are losing your identity - that Thor is overshadowing you, and he thinks that this will eventually lead to resentment."

I snorted at the absurdity of the idea. (In hindsight, perhaps I should not have dismissed this theory so readily.)

She curved one arm around my back, resting it upon my opposite shoulder, squeezing it softly. "He cares about you. He wants you to cultivate your own talents so that you never question your worth. With Thor as your brother, it would be easy to be . . . eclipsed"

"Is that why Thor is not here? Because he is afraid he will 'eclipse' me?"

"No, Thor is not here because he has duties in Vanaheim, which have been assigned to him by the High Council."

"And Odin?" This inquiry sounded every bit as prickly as I had intended.

"Your father thought that we might appreciate this time alone to say our farewells."

The sound of approaching hoofbeats drummed in the distance, signalling that my escorts would soon be upon us.

"That was most considerate of him," I said with a tone that implied that it was not at all considerate. "First, he sentences me to exile, and then he refuses to face me when I am sent off." My mother's hand swept a stray lock from the side of my face and then tucked it dotingly behind my ear. She unwound herself from me before we were within sight of the incoming riders, as if she knew that I would not want them to see me with my mother fussing over me.

"Well, Mother," I said with a curt bow, "Wish me well. This is your last chance to see me as the boy you once knew, for when I return to you five years hence, I shall be a changed man."

Frigga smiled, and it was a genial sight - yet, behind it there was the genuine sorrow that she would be parted from me, if only for a few years time. "Be patient, my son. And be gracious." This moment was certainly her last to instill manners into me, and she was trying to use it to its fullest potential. "And please, _please_ try not to be too hard on yourself."

"I will take all your wisdom to heart, Mother," I said, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead (approaching escort be damned!) "Tell Thor that I will not miss him, and that I will long for the time of my return so that I may best him in everything once again."

Frigga rolled her eyes strongly, but she did chuckle, as well.

"Oh, and tell Odin that I will make him proud so he need not worry himself. Or at least I shall not shame him and our family name like I know he fears I will."

"Does he?" she replied, amused.

"Of course. But he shall learn that I have devised all new methods of disgracing myself and the ones I love."

***.**.***

"Get up, you laggard! You have barely begun your training and already you are lying idle!"

I was pressed to the ground, watching the blood trickle from my injured nose and cheek onto the roughly hewn floorboards. I watched with some fascination as a substantial line of blood emanated from somewhere on the right side of my face and travelled away from me in the ridges between the wood. I had been taught by some of the best instructors in close combat anywhere in the Nine Realms, but their tutelage had left me ill-prepared for a duel where magic was the only weapon. I had been arrogant to believe that my innate skills, though impressive, were any match for a seasoned magician - that had been the first lesson in my curriculum. The second (and, in fact, the third, fourth, and fifth) was that if I was repeatedly hurled to the floor with intense force that my vision began to blur and grow white around the edges. Any hope I might have possessed that I was going to have an easy time of it had been beaten out of me hours ago.

Karnilla was towering over my prone body, but all I could see was the haze of her shadow around me. She pressed the point of her staff against my nape and asked imperiously , "Do you submit?"

Submission, of course, was the most sane path seeing how I was bloodied, bruised, and at the point of exhaustion. I was also fairly sure that I had at least three cracked ribs on my left side. My combat instructors would likely have advocated this course of action: when you are facing certain, brutal defeat, stay down and rely upon the mercy of your opponent. Failing that, meet your death with courage, and be satisfied with the knowledge that the Gates of Valhalla shall welcome you.

Unfortunately, satisfaction is not in my nature.

I struggled until I was resting upon my elbows. The pressure from my effort caused her to ease off of my neck enough for me to raise my head slightly. A few trickles of blood continued to drain from my injuries, but the humiliation, combined with the compounding frustration of being bested over and over again, had made my anger to rise to the surface, causing me to be sloppy in addition to being outmatched. The wavering before my eyes warned me that I would also soon be unconscious, which would make redeeming myself all the more difficult. I took a few deep breaths to regain some alertness, and then I conducted a sobering internal monologue.

 _Hold it together. Do not yield to her yet. Be calm. Anger will only splinter your focus._

It was not the most intricate of conversations, I admit, but I was only partially cognizant by that time. When I began to feel her fingers entwine in my sweat-soaked hair, the venom began to bubble in me once again. "Do not be ashamed," she whispered. "You actually lost quite valiantly." She stroked my head with no more caution than if she were soothing a docile pet or shushing me like a fussy infant.

 _Oh, Hel no._

I could not defeat her with magic - I was too weak and unskilled. However, I did have several lifetime's worth of hand-to-hand battle training that were equalled only by my that of my fatuous brother. I also recalled that her 'Sister' had been repelled in the cave for a precious instant by an inept but unanticipated burst of energy. By the continued petting motion to which she was subjecting me, I assumed that she considered me defeated.

I waited until she had leaned in to whisper reassurances to me again, and then I made my attempt. I swatted at the end of the staff that was still being held in the vicinity of my neck, knocking it out of her grasp. I then snatched it from the air, and with every remaining drop of force that I had drove it into her midsection, sending her stumbling backwards. I punctuated the blow with all my remaining magic, which caused her to fall back against the adjacent wall. My bid was futile, of course, as she instantaneously recalled the staff to her hand and raised it to strike in retaliation. I collapsed onto the floor, panting, and awaited the blast that would surely incapacitate and probably seriously wound me.

It never fell.

After several moments of fruitless anticipation, I peered over to where Karnilla was still standing, arms crossed, surveying me curiously. Her expression was possibly severe, possibly intrigued - and potentially extremely angry. I waited for another minute before she lowered the stave, her eyes dropping to my supine form with a glance that was almost affectionate.

"Better," she stated, before she strode out, leaving me alone in the room.


	9. Part 2: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

By What Mad Couriers We Are Led

The gnarled old woman was staring at Thor with such indifference that it made his mood cross over from mere annoyance to anger. She had looked him up and down repeatedly but had not yet responded to his request for entrance. When her gaze then fell upon the animal he was riding, her face puckered into a guise that was probably amusement.

"I am Thor, son of Odin Allfather, and I -"

"I know who you are," she responded. The woman's clothes were worn in places but well-tended in most other respects. She had her long, gray hair tied back from her face in a black kerchief, and her spindly, crooked fingers bore only one ring: an overlarge circle of metal upon which sat a delicately crafted beetle with an enormous ruby forming its curved back. "My Mistress wishes to know why you have come."

Looking up at the foreboding stone structure of the Nornkeep, Thor had begun to wonder the same thing. It had been five days journey through the wind and snow, and he had found no suitable places to stop for a respite. Building a fire had been an impossibility and thus sleep had been just as elusive. In fact, it was not until he was far enough up the mountain to breach the cloudline that he finally escaped the ferocity of the icy storm. By then, he was nearly at Karnilla's front gates.

"I have come regarding my brother, Loki," Thor stated. He was sore from many days in the saddle and his arms itched from the goat's coarse hair. Plus, fatigue was twisting his thoughts until he could barely form a coherent sentence. The sooner he could convince this aged woman to allow him to pass, the better.

"Your brother is not here," she stated. Her demeanor was anything but welcoming.

"I know that," he blurted through his weariness. "Or, at least, I assumed so."

The old woman glared down at him from atop the stoop of the entrance, and he studied her eyes. She was astute, he realized, and she was appraising him carefully, using the visual evidence to help her confirm that he was indeed who he claimed to be. As she did so, he noted that she could only see from one eye and that the other was a milky white in color throughout its iris. "Then you have come to confirm his absence?" she teased.

"No," Thor answered, his irritation beginning to bleed into his words. "I have come to speak to Karnilla, your Queen, about my brother. The exact nature of my business is mine alone."

The woman emitted a raspy laugh. "She is not _my_ Queen," she chuckled. "I am no Norn, Odinson."

That he was not really interested in this woman's relationship to Karnilla was likely too boorish to say out loud.

"I am Haag, Matron of the people of Gymirsgard and eldest of their living witches," she proclaimed proudly. "Those travellers who see my Mistress do so at _my_ behest."

 _Enough of this._ "Well," the Aesir said impatiently. "Am I to be permitted to see her or not?"

Her one functional eye surveyed him again, and it made him shiver at how closely the gesture mirrored one of his father's. "You are clad in Asgardian dress, and your weapons and armour display the markings of the House of Odin," Haag said, "Although your steed is anything but stately." She was taunting him again, he guessed. "And you are foolish enough to pretend that the name 'Loki' holds any weight here. I suppose that I have not yet decided."

"Be quick about it then, crone!" Thor snapped, having lost all composure by this time. "I have not slept in nearly five days, and I have had no other companion than the beast you see before you!"

Her good eye narrowed. "You have your brother's short temper," she mused as she stroked her chin. "Along with my other observations, I shall take that as proof enough of your identity." She waved him in as she disappeared into the narrow passageway, though the action was too fluid for someone of her supposed age.

"This is where I leave you, noble steed." Thor bowed to Tanngrisnir. "We will not both be fitting through that crevice." Despite the unpleasantness of their journey, the Thunder God had become quite fond of this creature who tackled even the most challenging of terrain with a calm silence. He removed a small bundle of timothy from within his wool coat as he shed it and allowed the goat to nibble it from his palm. "Do not eat the supplies while I'm gone," he laughed as he ruffled its coat. "I am not certain where our next destination might be."

***.**.***

"Do not dawdle, Odinson!" Haag demanded. Although she measured only two-thirds of his height, her steps were quick and sure as she navigated the rocky passage. Thor, on the other hand, was barking his broad shoulders against the walls in places where width was lacking.

It felt like an eternity before the corridor opened into a cavernous hall where the air turned fresher. This space was lit only by the occasional torch, and, in the wealth of openness, the flickers from these fires appeared to reveal miniature figures dancing along the floor around them. The effect was mesmerizing, so much so that the blonde man was halfway across the distance of the gallery before he noticed the actual movements at the edge of his vision. When he stopped to study them more closely, Haag whirled and snapped at him: "Do not stop, foolish boy! Stay within the light of my lantern, or you will barely have time to regret it!"

He did not doubt that. In fact, he believed it well enough that he allowed her 'foolish boy' comment to go fully unanswered. After that warning, he did not fall more than a few steps behind her - and yet, he could not keep his eyes from wandering to the periphery. He caught the occasional glance of a face at the perimeter of the light, its eyes absent and displaying what looked like a mouth full of pointed teeth. What little form they had outside of their heads was indistinct, like smoke drifting in and out of focus. Here and there he spied an elongated wisp of what may have been a limb (or was that a pair of wings?), but the view was so brief that he was uncertain if it was part of the wavering light from the torches.

"What are they?" Thor asked, pivoting backward to ensure that there was nothing on his heels. He turned just in time to catch what might have been a clawed hand fading back into the darkness. He strayed just enough to the edge of the lantern light to snatch the nearest torch from its peg.

"They are the guardians of the Nornkeep," the old woman proclaimed. "Spirits in the service of Karnilla - reclaimed from the pits of Hel."

"Demons?" he gasped.

"If you wish," Haag said. "But they are of no consequence now." She placed the handle of her lantern into a hook on the wall next to them. "We are here." She smoothed the folds of her apron and held her tiny hands clasped before her as if she were in the palace kitchens rather than surrounded by an army of the undead. She was standing before a set of doors, each with a large iron ring for a knocker. She grasped the metal of the one on the right and brought it down heavily upon the wood three times in quick succession. It opened without the aid of her hand, a pool of luminescence flooding the ground around them.

Realizing that he was still holding the torch, Thor asked, "What should I do with this?"

"Throw it back into the darkness. They will extinguish it for you."

Hesitantly, he tossed it gently into the shadows. The flame landed just on the edge of the illumination from inside the doors and simply lay there for a few beats before a spiral of wind and blackness engulfed the fire, extinguishing it instantly. This action was followed by an infuriated howl that echoed back from every unseen wall and pillar around them.

***.**.***

"Come closer, Thor Odinson," Karnilla commanded from her ivory-gilded throne. She had her legs slung provocatively over one arm of the ornate chair and an elbow perched upon the other, a hand left dangling lazily before her. "I have heard you described many times, but I have never beheld you with my own eyes."

Thor suddenly felt very vulnerable as he approached her, Karnilla's eyes drifting up and down along his form. She hummed with satisfaction. "You are quite different than your brother."

The urge to cover himself was ludicrous considered that he was fully clothed. "Though you both have your . . . charms." Her gaze then twisted into a leer that was practically indecent.

"Your majesty." Thor kneeled in deference, although he was uncertain precisely why he felt compelled to do it. Nornheim was merely a province of Asgard, and the Norns did not technically have a queen, even if she proclaimed herself so. "I have come to seek your wisdom regarding the matter of my brother."

"Have you?" One eyebrow lifted and her fingers threaded together with delight. "And what matter would that be?" She threw back her head to laugh, exposing her long, elegant throat. "Would it be the matter of how he was never really your brother? Are you having difficulty accepting your lack of blood relationship to him? Or is it that you are seeking the reasons as to why he has consistently betrayed you despite your unwavering affection for him?"

He was not going to rise to her mocking. "I am seeking his location, and I believe you might have information that may assist me." This was not precisely true since he was mainly here to determine Loki's role in Ragnarök. He was relying on Valkyrie for the rest.

"Loki only spent a handful of years in Nornheim, and that was so very long ago. He does not even bother to visit unless he needs something, that ungrateful wretch." This final complaint was only a grumble. "I made him powerful beyond measure, and he has barely bothered to call upon me since he left."

Thor saw his opening to prod her, and, if his instinct was correct, he could earn her respect. If his words fell poorly upon her ears, however, then he was just as likely to find himself up against the might of a very powerful sorceress. He began with a wry smile, which caused her mirth to temper somewhat. When he was certain he had her full attention, he spoke.

"It is true that Loki can be ungrateful. If you are amazed by that fact, then I would venture to say that you never quite knew him at all."

Karnilla's mouth turned completely downwards at this retort, and her brow creased. She hummed thoughtfully, her index finger and thumb rubbing together absently below the curve of her lower lip. "Are you trying to taunt me, Odinson?" she said, and her voice was raspy and low with her reply. Then the muscles of her face relaxed and her posture straightened. Her return volley was sure to be forthcoming. "I knew your brother in all sorts of ways that _you_ would never understand." She sat back and swung her incredibly long legs to the front. The burgundy velvet of her robes was cut high enough at the thigh that it barely reached the lower edge of her belt, and Thor had to glance at the floor in order to avoid an immodest view.

"I do not doubt that," he answered with a chuckle. What he did dispute was that the manner in which she had known Loki would have been physical, at least in the way her innuendo implied. His brother was impeccably discreet when it came to his intimate encounters and more particular about his partners than he was about his clothing (up until the recent past, at least). However, if there had been one being whom he would allow some glimpse of what lay within his cold and complicated heart, it had been Thor. There was little between them that was utterly secret, and after a millennium or so such matters had become both routine and inconsequential.

Karnilla was a brazen woman who undoubtedly believed that all whom she desired were hers by rights, and his brother would have greatly savored the opportunity to toy with her over a course of years (and surely much longer, if necessary), steadfastly denying her any fraction of what she so arrogantly believed was owed to her. "I know there is much about the world of magic that I do not comprehend, but Loki has shown me enough that I understand the outer layer of its complexities, anyway. Sorcerers, particularly the very powerful ones, can share profound bonds even from great distances. They do not even need to have touched for their strength to manifest itself. So if you are implying that Loki was more to you than a student of your talents in the magic arts, then I would venture that to be a lie."

The Norn Queen settled against the back of her throne heavily. She was clearly startled by both the depth of his knowledge and his audacity in laying it out before her so bluntly. He could almost hear the machinery of her mind grinding into reverse, changing her impression of him in enormous fashion. She gathered the flowing edges of her garment into her lap, effectively covering the length of her shapely legs, but one hand still clung to her left cheek like a giant spider absently brushing its legs upon her flesh while the rest of her sat immobile. The veneer of her face was also shifting, from playful indignation to an ugly distrust. Not exactly the reaction for which he had been angling.

"Forgive me, your majesty," the Asgardian said. "I would not have been so forthright, but I have little time to linger here. I need my intentions laid out upon a clear field of exchange, and I require the same from you." It was a strategic way to express that there was no time for ploys between them.

Karnilla nodded, but her eyes were dull and unreadable. At that moment, she reminded him of Loki so much that it ached.

"In diplomatic exchanges, I am often underestimated because of how I seem to the other parties," Thor continued. "They are led to erroneously believe that I am slow because of my size and gullible because of my good nature." He raised one eyebrow carefully and searched her expression with as much earnestness as he could summon. "I assure you that I am neither. The answers I seek are not fully as I have presented them. What I truly need is to speak to you of Ragnarök."

Her visage unchanged, she whispered, "I thought you came here to find your errant brother." Her long fingers continued to tap along the crest of her cheekbone as she considered him. "If you prize forthrightness as much as you claim, then you would be wise to confess the full extent of your purpose to me at once and with no deceptions."

"Very well," the blonde man replied, his manner turning resolute. He inhaled deeply and allowed the breath to release slowly as he steeled himself for this exchange. "Since we were adolescents, my brother has had a troublesome obsession with this prophecy. I do not claim to know the origin of his preoccupation, but he has long been drawn to the manner in which the Norns believe our world will be undone. He would not often speak of it, but on the few occasions when he did, he grew pale and cheerless. He likened it to a cold hand around his heart that squeezed just to the point of pain whenever he would dwell upon the end of the Realms."

"More quickly, Aesir," the woman warned. "If you are so concerned with brevity then you should get to the point. I do not wish to dwell on your brother's florid descriptions of his suffering." His insolence was not going to go unpunished, after all.

Her irritability flustered him for a moment, but he did not falter for long. "I saw a fatality in him whenever he spoke of it. I think he knew something that he would not share with me, and I think he came to you for answers."

A delicately arched eyebrow preceded the words: "Would you have me tell you what we discussed? Loki would consider that a betrayal of the highest order."

Thor had learned a few tricks regarding diplomacy and debate through those many years at his brother's side, and these maneuvers were much like Loki's rules of swordplay: always keep moving, inflict a wound whenever you see an opening, and advance on your opponent until he loses his balance. From the look on Karnilla's face, her footing was about to become dangerously unstable.

"Do I not owe him a betrayal? He has not exactly returned my good will with loving words as of late." Thor tried to keep his voice even, but the hurt he harbored over his sibling's treachery was sharpening his speech. "Still, you do not deny that he came to you with such an inquiry, which I can only assume to be a confirmation that he did so."

"He did," she replied. Her every limb was vibrating with a guarded tension.

"Then tell me," the warrior stated, adopting her demeanor of pursuing what was owed to him.

"I will tell you, Prince of Asgard, if you will agree to my price." She was still haughty, knowing that she had the advantage of being on her own ground.

"Name it, and I will consider your bargain."

"I will tell you what I told your scheming brother about Ragnorök. You will stand here and endure every cruel, bloodless detail that I offer you without interruption or recourse until I have told you all that I know, and then you will suffer under the weight of that knowledge until the end of your days."

The particulars of this exchange sounded far more sinister than Thor had been anticipating. The weight of it was surely plain upon his face as he listened to these words that cut him like a curse, his limbs like stone beneath him.

A more playful mood struck her again, and she smiled with wicked intent. "Do not despair, Thor Odinson," she purred. "You will not have so many days ahead of you as you might have expected."

The ominous truth of that statement chilled his blood; yet, he had not come so far only to be turned back by his own fear. If he had so little time left to live, did that not only intensify his need to find his brother? To mend what had come undone between them?

"Do you agree?" Karnilla asked.

"I do."

"Then you must also indulge me in the second half of my deal. After I have given you all that you have asked of me and I have broken your heart with it, I will tell you another secret to which I am privy that will change the course of your quest indefinitely."

Thor snorted. "I doubt that you could reveal anything to me that would turn me from the path I have chosen."

"Then you agree?"

"I agree."

"You should sit for this tale, my Prince," she said, although the use of his title was not a compliment. "It will be somewhat lengthy and unnerving for you. Haag!"

The stooped woman emerged quickly from the shadows at the edge of the chamber. She carried a large, wooden chair beneath one arm as if it weighed no more than a pillow and sat it down heavily at Thor's side.

So he sat.

Karnilla bowed her head and gripped each arm of her throne with a firm hand. There was an obvious strain within her as he could see by the paling of her knuckles as she held the sides, but she did not speak. Long moments passed before Thor was compelled to ask for what they might be waiting.

"Silence!" Karnilla replied, her voice husky, perhaps deeper than it had been before. "One of the conditions of our agreement was that you would not speak." These words sounded like they were being uttered by two voices in tandem: one a raspier, foreign-sounding one and the other Karnilla's. "I am not the one who will be telling you this tale, darling." This time she sounded more like herself. "It is only my lips that will deliver the story."

Her body was taut, every limb stiff, and her fingers were white from lack of circulation. She quivered on her seat, but all he could see of her head was the auburn fall of her hair and the opulent headpiece that still clung to it. Suddenly, her head was pulled upright as if it had been compelled to do so by the clutch of an invisible hand, and she gasped as though the air had left the room. When she opened her eyes the whole of them were white, staring sightlessly out over the chamber.

"I see you, beautiful one," came the hoarse voice again. "I am Skuld of the Well of Urd, and I have come because you desire the truth of Ragnarök. You seek the knowledge that your brother has, but that he cannot tell you. Or will not." The voice sounded uncertain on this point. "Either way, he is lost to you now. This revelation cannot come from him."

Thor knew this name: she was one of the three Norns who dwelled at the roots of Yggdrasil, near the Well of Destiny - the writers of fate. Karnilla was using her powers to channel the spirit of this ancient creature so that she might reveal to him the information for which he had so foolishly asked.

"It is true what you have read: the Twilight of the Gods will begin with chaos of Leuge, and the Realms will fall in turn, beginning with Midgard, where his destruction has already been felt."

Thor sorted quickly through the major disasters that he had witnessed on Earth recently - earthquakes, floods, cyclones - as well as unnatural occurrences like Sokovia and Manhattan. There certainly had been enough havoc to go around for the last several years. Yet, although he yearned to know more about the nature of its cause, he dared not ask for fear of breaking the agreement and losing his link to the wisdom the Norn possessed.

"You wish to know more about Leuge?" Skuld mused. "You already know plenty. You renounce the truth that you do not wish to see." The two voices were beginning to meld again, creating the illusion that Karnilla and the Norn were speaking together in a mismatched harmony. "In the tongue of the Old Ones, Leuge was a carrier of destruction - the One who Breaks, he was called. Yet the name itself has evolved over hundreds of millennia from a common root . He was called 'Loge' in other tongues, paying tribute to the force that they believed to be the ultimate destroyer."

 _Fire._ Thor thought to himself. The word 'Loge' was an ancient term for 'Bringer of Fire'.

"You are correct, Thor, son of Odin. The truth you desire is laid out wholly before you, and yet you still do not see. Look more closely, and you will bring it to the light. The Fire is what you seek."

Without warning, Thor was blinded by images from his past, small scenes that came upon him so rapidly that he could only recognize each moment after it had already passed. The only common thread he could discern among them was that they were coming from progressively further points in his past, and each vision contained younger and younger versions of himself. Loki also appeared in so many of the prominent pieces of his life that it saddened him to endure the onslaught of these memories, but, thankfully, they were so fleeting that he did not have the time to despair. Finally, they were but children, and one of the images that fled before his eyes was of the two of them playing in the garden with his mother. There was another woman there with them, as well, but her face was not visible.

" _An unusual name," the stranger said to his mother._

 _"Yes, he's such a handful that I had to choose a name that equalled his spirit. It comes from the ancient word for fire . ._."

The images stopped as swiftly as they began, and his head rang with the abrupt silence of it, the absence of noise like a screaming within his skull. It was all so clear. Had he been possessed by such denial that he truly had not seen? Leuge . . . The One Who Breaks . . . the Breaking of Midgard . . . the destruction in Manhattan . . . Bringer of Fire . . . Loge . . .

"Loki." His lips had formed the name, but it had been the Norn who had given voice to it.

 _Impossible._

"Do not fear that your brother is the reason for the ending. He is but a vessel through which the destiny of the Nine Realms will be channeled. He is but a catalyst - the one who begins it. It is not his doing, and he bears no blame."

 _No, no, no . . . there has to be a way to stop it, to find him and end this! Please, Valkyrie, return to me! I need you to find him so that I can keep him from this fate, this terrible end that he had . . ._

 _He had_ _ **known**_ _._

This single thought stopped Thor cold. Loki had _known_ that this was to be his role in the end - that he would be the cause, the instigator. The Bringer of Fire. How could he have learned of it? Had Karnilla revealed it to him?

In answer to his unspoken question, Skuld replied: "Your brother encountered one of my Sisters - one of dozens of lesser Norns - in a cave during his youth. It touched him and was shown his destiny, which she then revealed to him. He has known for almost a thousand years."

 _So long._

Too long to have been shouldering a fortune which concludes with the incineration of the known universe. Of course: the Norn cave all those centuries ago, when he had been shaken so badly by who knows what. Well, now Thor knew what, and he needed Loki with him now more than ever, to tell him that it was going to be fine, that the fate of their world was not written in stone. Time was not impenetrable and nothing was definite. Nothing was certain.

 _For the sake of Valhalla, Loki, where_ _ **are**_ _you?_

Skuld continued to speak, but her voice was fading, and Karnilla's was becoming increasingly dominant. "You seek the Bringer of Fire and the Wielder of Ice. I can only tell you what will be but not what must be, for time is a wheel, and all that ends in flame is born again in ice . . . and wind . . . and earth . . ."

As the Norn's words faded out, Karnilla's eyes regained their color. She collapsed back into her throne, breathless and exhausted. She held her hand to her temple for a long moment as she summoned her composure, only straightening her tilted headpiece as an afterthought. "Now you have your answers, Odinson. Such as they are." Sweat still glistened upon her brow. "I pray that they have been worth the price you will pay."

Thor shook his head. There was no conceivable reply to this remark at that moment because the gravity of all he had heard was still seeping into him like a sickness, insidious and unbearable. _Loki is the key to the end of the world. He is the one who begins Ragnarö_ k. _He is Leuge, the One who Breaks. The Bringer of Fire._

No wonder Loki had borne his exile without complaint. To be among the Aesir was to kindle the flames of his destiny and initiate the end of the universe. And it was a burden he had borne for centuries.

"Now, Thor Odinson," the Norn Queen hummed as if still partially in a trance. "You must receive the other half of my bargain."

Thor's tongue was still thick in his mouth, and his mind was like liquid. "You have told me a prophecy that seals my brother's destiny as a harbinger of rampant death. What revelation could possibly be more grievous?"

"Do not mock doom by proclaiming that it can never be worse," she replied. "Even the most powerful beings in the universe know that the most desperate of circumstances always hold the capacity for decay. No one can defy the whole of creation for very long, not even your clever brother." The strain of her ordeal must have depleted her energy enormously, because her tone contained neither derision nor flirtation. "Shall I tell you what else it is that I know?"

"Have I any choice but to endure your words?" Would it matter? Could anything matter after what he had been told by the Lady of the Well?

"On Midgard, you have many companions, do you not?"

Thor nodded in agreement.

"Among them was a beast of great power - but unruly. Impossible to fully control."

"Pardon?"

She sighed in frustration. "A small, timid man who holds inside him the might of a great monster."

"Yes," the Aesir replied. "His Midgardian form is Dr. Banner, but the creature within him is known as 'Hulk.'"

"Banner has hidden himself from you and the others, and you have been ignorant of his whereabouts for some time."

Thor's mind was still spinning with Skuld's prophecies. _Time is a wheel . . . all that ends in flame is born again in ice . . ._ Then, oddly, Loki's words to him in the Observatory before he fell into the abyss: _'I'm not your brother. I never was.'_

"His incredible strength and his capacity for mayhem have garnered unwanted attention."

Thor raised his head with a snap. Dr. Banner had indeed been missing since Sokovia, and they had found no trace of either him or the Quinjet in which he had disappeared. "What type of 'unwanted attention?' Suddenly he was not certain that he even desired the answer to this question, but, alas, it had been part of their agreement.

"Your friend, Dr. Banner, is on Sakaar. He has been imprisoned by a being called 'En Dwi Gast.' Do you know of him?"

"The Grandmaster." The Aesir was gripping his temples in refutal, although this information was too outlandish not to be true. "I have heard of him."

"Then you know what manner of games he has created on that forsaken world?" The evenness had returned to her voice, and she wore an increasingly mischievous grin.

Oh, yes. He knew.

The Grandmaster was a purveyor of all manner of games and sport, particularly the kind that ended in bloodshed. Without immediate intervention, his friend was destined to suffer a violent death, with the roar of a crowd of thousands echoing in his ears.


	10. Part 2: Ch 4

~~Chapter 4~~

A Blind Attendance on a Brief Ambition

A well-known phrase by Midgardian philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche states, " . . . if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." I can say without hesitation that this is a lie. An abyss is only darkness, and it does not care enough for your existence to take note of you in the least. Gazing into that nothingness does have its consequences however, although its acknowledgement of one's existence is far from one of them. Perhaps the most terrible of these consequences - beyond the burning cold, the loneliness, and the madness that inevitably comes over time - is the perceived loss of one's identity. Most of what I endured after I fell from the Bifröst has been mercifully shielded from me by my own mind, and what I do remember is more than enough to make me believe that I should not make attempts to go back and retrieve it. The second half of Nietzsche's quotation is of much greater importance, and yet it is almost always severed from the section about the abyss as if its simplicity cannot compete with the hollow elegance of the later words. I would argue that it is of far more use than its successor, for it reads, "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that, in the process, he does not become a monster."

I recall enough to know that I battled monstrosities during those times when I was absent from the Nine Realms; furthermore, I believe I killed too many of them to count. Those demons who survived me were the ones that controlled me in the end, and it is because of these devils that I cannot fully trust many of the memories that I do retain from my life beyond the Abyss. I do remember making myself a vow in the very darkest of times: that I would survive. I must have known what the results of my survival would mean, but still my wrathful, jealous heart would not allow me to die where I was, alone on the other side of the universe among beasts that would literally tear me apart for their own amusement. So I resolved to live, simply because I refused to die among the filth and the blood of such evil creatures, in a place where my fate would never be known by my mother or (dare I say it?) by my brother. The moment I made myself that promise I knew that countless lives would have to be taken to ensure my continued existence, and that many of them would be 'innocent,' if such a state truly exists beyond that of the youngest of babes.

I made it anyway.

I knew precisely what the cost would be, and it did not dissuade me. If I believed in such things, I would say that was the moment I truly lost my soul - but that might be a lie, as well. That instant probably came in Asgard, when Odin told me that I had been born a monster myself and that my wretched life had been spared only for its potential use as a political pawn. Oh yes, I'm afraid that memory is painfully intact. I had spent the whole of my existence trying to measure up to the golden Prince of Asgard, only to learn that I had never had a chance in Hel of being his equal. I wanted to rip out the heart of my so-called brother and then feed it to the palace dogs just to guarantee him an ignominious end. He had always been so arrogant and brash - and yet so easily loved. Thor had to have known the truth, that I could never be king and that he was the heir to the throne, unchallenged.

Granted, I may have lost my _mind_ a bit at that moment, but my soul remained mine alone. You see, I have spent long hours discussing the whole of the universe with beings who can truly capture the souls of men and gods, and I assure you that they will never have the pleasure of taking mine.

If the Abyss could have gazed into me, it might have been surprised at what it found there, for when I had fallen into that darkness, I had no expectation of surviving it. I was dying, and I was prepared for it, even if death had not been quite ready for me. What I had felt most acutely was isolation, but more immediately than that was a detachment - an empty void that was left within me. Perhaps it would not have been so deleterious if I had not instantly recognized the cause of it: my disconnection from Thor. My brother who was _not_ my brother, and yet the loss of him had caused me to ache with inescapable need - a longing to be reunited with him even if it meant rending the entire universe to accomplish it. In a breath, I had crossed from wanting him dead to needing him with me, irrevocably.

I have since come to the realization that this was the result of a disruption of the current timeline as defined by the Norns, as Thor's destiny and mine were entwined tightly within the wheel of existence. You see, our proximity is necessary for the approach of the end. The Realms had all been better off without me in them, and yet now I would spend eternity trying to claw my way back into them simply because that was the way that the narrative should unfold. If I had hated Thor before, I was now consumed by a furor that could only end with his blood upon my hands.

(Most of that rage was beaten out of me within the first few months of my captivity, I believe, although the details are still a bit fuzzy.)

After that initial stage - which I refer to only as the 'Dark Times,' for reasons far more numerous than one - things become only slightly less hazy. I was brought to a room with the Mind Stone, and I spent innumerable hours shackled to a chair while trying to learn to control it. I know that I suffered, and yet I cannot recall what form this torment had taken. When I had mastered that task, I was coerced into using the stone to reach out to the Tesseract until I could command it, as well. In a way, this assignment was easier, as I feel like there had been less physical and emotional pain on my part, and yet it had harmed me in ways that I could not even conceive. The cube had defended itself, and, in the end, I was governed by it just as much I was controlling it. Even this indignity is nearly lost to me now, my mind wiped all but clean of the trauma that I must have endured. I find as time passes that less and less remains of it in my memory.

So it is with the events on Midgard. The Chitauri invasion remains a blur of images to me, although I do have a strangely clear recollection of my time on the mortals' flying fortress. Likewise, my exchange of words with Tony Stark in his residence in the sky is surprisingly lucid, to the point that I can remember the sentences we spoke down to the very word. Odd, is it not? What is certain is that I only regained full control of my faculties after I was repeatedly thrashed by the giant creature known as "Hulk," and so, although I should have been utterly humiliated by that exchange, I find that I am a little thankful for it since it rescued me from my bondage to Thanos and the Chitauri. Of course, then I had to live with aftermath of my oath (as well as the irreparable damage to my mind and my sanity), but I had chosen my path. There could be no return.

What I find most peculiar was the time between these last two events: my actions within Stark's tower and my sound thrashing at the hands of that green menace. My conclusion has been that it was some result of my proximity to the Mind Stone, which I carried in my scepter, and the Tesseract, which was on the roof above me. Perhaps it was even some retaliation on the part of the Cube for my having conquered it back when I was in Thanos's custody. Whatever the impetus, the circumstances are worth putting into words, if only for the sake of trying to better comprehend them.

***.**.***

The skyline of Manhattan rippled beneath me like waves lapping a shore. So unclear - so distant. I was pleased with myself, I think, as I stood with my arms spread wide upon that precipice, my flesh absorbing the light. So much light - I had not seen such brightness in years, but it felt more like centuries. Everything was coming together so beautifully, and, although the recollection is vague, I know I felt pride at all that I had made come to pass. The Midgardians had folded like the pawns that they were, and I was so close now to my liberation. Thanos would let me go. He _had_ to release me. After all, I had fulfilled my part of the bargain.

I felt almost feverish there, caught up both in the joy of my triumph and the nearness of my freedom. What had become of Thor, I could only guess. Asgardians were much more resilient than humans, so even if he had landed without breaking out of the chamber, he could be no more than moderately wounded. I fully expected that I would see him again before all of this was over: hopefully broken and pleading with me to spare his compatriots from the horrors to come. Let them all bleed as I had, it was no matter. I had seen light, felt the warmth of a nearby star and tasted the possibilities of a life unbound from the monsters who had held me. Let the whole of Midgard burn for all I cared, for my fortunes had finally turned.

 _You are but words,_ I had told the Other. Damn, but I was arrogant.

Then Thor was there with me, and he was pleading as I had fantasized, begging me to help him undo all that I had done. The generalities of his words are written in my memory if not the precise phrasing. I said something back to him, something humiliatingly absurd such as "There is only the war."

And that is when it happened.

I jumped from my perch upon Stark's platform to face my brother on an equal level; after all, if I was going to defeat him at long last, I did not want him sniveling about any advantage that I may have had. It seemed to take longer than I had anticipated to reach the ground, almost as if I were falling so painfully slowly that I might spend the rest of my existence hanging suspended in the atmosphere of Midgard. I felt an odd pull on something within me - that same 'something' that Norns and sorceresses seemed so keen to mine for information - and its anchor point seemed to be at the other end of the universe. I was pulled out of my body by someone or some _thing_ ancient and beyond even my comprehension. It was like being dangled over a precipice, a well of time, space, and knowledge that had no end that I could perceive. The whole of reality was balanced upon one immovable point in the universe, and it was converging right beneath me.

My mind quickly flitted to the Mind Stone, but it was settled and still within its encasement in the scepter. The Tesseract, then? Not that I could sense, and, believe me, the presence of that damnable cube was tormenting most of my waking moments. I reached out tentatively with my power, and it merely hung there for a few moments before it was shoved roughly back into my form. As it re-entered me, I experienced a flicker of energy, like a spark - just as brief but impossibly powerful - and with it came a taste on my tongue, so fleeting that I could hardly relate it to anything I had ever known. It tasted old, like earth after a storm, but infused with blood and heat and surrounded by a burst of lightning that brought no thunder.

The binding inside of me began to turn, and I could sense a second filament twisting along with mine into an infinite strand of - of _something_. Energy, space - life? Of all the options, it was most like the last, although I cannot describe in what way. It was a painful torsion, the tether that held me from my very core entwining itself with another strand, and as the coil completed itself, I could 'see' the two spiralling lines emanating from me and moving outward. There was a cloud of dark but brilliant colors swimming within the two halves, and as the twining of the strands flew away from me at speed, these colors were approaching me just as swiftly.

" _So be it."_

That had been a voice, its timbre reaching my ears but emanating out into nothingness. Familiar. Thor's, I realized, but that fact barely held any meaning.

The glowing hues still approached, and, as they reached me, they bent into pictures. Some were recognizable, events from my past that were so random I could not believe that they held any great significance. I quickly saw my fall from the Bifröst, and the twisting of the two parts halted. I then saw images that I had never wished to experience again, which, with denial as my aid, I had pushed so far back into the crevices of my mind that I never expected them to see the light of day. Mercilessly, they were as brief as all the others.

 _"Look at this! Look around you!"_

Thor again. I could not even begin to follow his instruction for my vision was full of the horrors from what felt like another life, followed by the return to Midgard and my 'surrender' to the Avengers. Then a memory of Thor, his hand around my throat, forcing me out into the night. That was when the intertwining began again, and the well beneath me shifted - changed. It looked the same but felt very different.

 _"Do you think this madness will end with your rule?"_

Did I? It was difficult to think of such things at that moment, for now I was seeing unfamiliar scenes, and they were equally as horrible, only now they involved Midgard, and Asgard, and Nidavellir, and Alfheim. Destruction, death, suffering - endless and unrelenting, the equal of what I had endured stretched out to all the Nine Realms.

Was this Ragnarök? 'Had I caused this?' I wondered, and immediately I knew the answer: not directly, but I had had a hand in its making. This blight upon the universe was not the result of the twilight of Asgard and its myriad 'gods,' but that of Thanos, whom I was serving for my own selfish purposes. There would be no kingdom at the end of all of this - only death meted out by the Mad Titan as he saw fit. I could feel the improbable sting of tears welling up in my eyes. All of this madness because I could not please my father, make him see that I was equal to Thor, make him love me the way he loved my brother. ' _That no longer matters,_ ' Odin had said to me when I confronted him about my existence. Rage began to flicker within me once again.

The last thing I remember as the world below me reclaimed my soul was the image of a being, ancient beyond comprehension and enormous beyond all possibility. Its eyes were pale and seemingly sightless, yet it was clear that he saw everything - _knew_ everything. He had one face that gazed out silently upon the whole of existence and two others that were not visible on either side of his head, hidden from sight in varying degrees by a layer of cloth. As I fell away, back toward the chaos and annihilation beneath me, the iridescent eyes from his one visible face met my own, and my mind was filled with words. They did not arise from his throat but rather they echoed through my head as if they had originated from inside it. Three words, in fact:

 _Equity. Necessity. Vengeance._

If I could have screamed, I would have, but my body was still far beneath me. To endure that gaze for even a second was to bear a weight that could violently crush my entire soul beneath its significance.

 _"It's too late."_

This voice was also familiar. It was my own.

 _"It's too late to stop it."_

Was it, though? Was it too late for me to end the attack on Midgard and . . . and then what? Being on the non-Thanos side of this ordeal would not play well with the odds regarding my personal promise. If the Titan won, I gained my freedom. If he was defeated, then I would be fortunate if I were to die in the battle rather than endure in any form. I certainly was not going back to the place of my horrific incarceration, although I imagine that Thanos would have far more creative and terrible fates for any of his generals who might fail him. And that is what I was at this moment: a military leader commanding a force that was invading an entire planet. That was probably something to which I should return my attention.

I was back within my body, but I was still incredibly dazed and off-balance. From the aches in my chest and back, I could only presume that Thor and I had been battling one another during my curious absence, but what force had been controlling me during the fight I could not say. _'It's too late to stop it,'_ I had said. Yet it was not the ill-fated invasion of which I was speaking - at least not entirely. I was answering the cold, judgmental stare of that ancient being who had left my skull ringing with such unusual words: _Equity. Necessity. Vengeance._

Speaking of vengeance, I was staring into the hopeful eyes of my once-brother, who was pleading with me: "No, we can. Together." What a simple, hopeless fool he was. It was not just the matter of my having tried to kill him, but the pure fact that he had no idea of the scale upon which all of this was playing out. My eyes welled with involuntary tears, and I think may have smiled. To him, it must have seemed as if I were on the verge of accepting his proposal, throwing my allegiance in with him and his pathetic band of cohorts. Little did he know that I had reached back to a well-hidden sheath that contained a number of daggers, capable of piercing even Asgardian armour if they were given a forceful enough push. The only matter under my consideration at that moment was merely where to drive one in, and Thor was close enough that I could have dealt a fatal blow, for he had left his midsection unguarded. Ah, signs of lingering trust! I would have carved out all of his enduring faith in me just to watch the dawning realization as he died.

You see, I am not one to be trusted.

When the blow fell, it was just a pitiful wound to the abdomen, no more than an aggravation to an Asgardian. In the end, I could not even fully trust myself, because my intentions had pitifully betrayed me by sparing him.

"Sentiment," I lectured myself.

Thor's faith in me might have taken a hit, but his patience had finally collapsed. I took a few powerful blows then, although the exact nature of them is lost to me. I know that they shook something loose, however, for time seemed to continue at a more normal pace, and I could feel the full depth of every bruise that I had received during our skirmish. I was suddenly gripped with an intense desire to be as far from him as I could get while still maintaining control of my army.

The journey through Manhattan on the Chitauri's speeding chariot had been thrilling at least, and it provided the added bonus of requiring a great deal of my attention to control it at great velocity. The distraction was a little too much, perhaps, because it caused me to miscalculate the cunning of the spiteful Agent Barton.

That was when I found myself back at Stark Tower, facing the anger of the Hulk in all its horrifying glory, and I tried to make a final stand. I was tired of being threatened, being controlled . . . and, most of all, of being pursued. I was emotionally exhausted, and so I stood my ground. I was then pummelled until I could barely form a coherent thought, but, in reality, it was the best way that the attack could have ended for me. I felt the presence of the Other leaving me, the mental restraint he held over me mercifully vanishing, only to leave me physically spent and disturbingly vulnerable.

For an immeasurable amount of time, I lay with only my thoughts, pondering the vision that I had experienced while suspended in space. What message had it been trying to convey to me with those simple words: _Equity. Necessity. Vengeance_? And why would such a powerful, primeval being be trying to reach me above all others?

More importantly, just what in Hel was I supposed to do now?

8


	11. Part 3: Prologue

~~Part III~~

I will read ashes for you, if you ask me.

I will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes

And out of the red and black tongues and stripes,

I will tell how fire comes

And how fire runs far as the sea.

- _The Fire Pages_ by Carl Sandburg

 _When one lives as long as an Aesir (or a Jötun, as it were), there tend to be few genuine surprises. My true heritage was one of those rare gems, but, in general, centuries could pass without me experiencing anything I would consider truly astonishing. Being an avid scholar, I am well versed in most potentially significant universal events, and thus it seems that the happenings that catch me legitimately off my guard are quite brutally personal._

 _For instance, I had made some assumptions about being named heir to the throne of Asgard. Thor was a skilled warrior (and a notorious braggart along with it), and Odin had long entrusted him with the control of the bulk of his armies. When the situation called for blind savagery and brute strength, my brother was undoubtedly the correct choice. I, however, had spent a great many of my years learning multiple alien languages, along with diplomacy protocols and cultural histories. I was calm, measured - dignified. I also possessed the talent of verbal persuasion, although that had gained me a reputation in the universe as one who could not be fully trusted. Dignitaries knew that they would be in danger of seeing Asgard's side of the dispute if they fell victim to my charms, but they simply could not help themselves - they always did. In fact, I was often able to smooth over disagreements with other Realms before the Allfather ever needed to become involved. I was damn good at it, if I can be so brash._

 _Even when it came time for Odin to bestow the anointed hammer, Mjölnir, upon one of his generals, I was not at all insulted that it was given to my brother. I had greatly anticipated it, and it was not troublesome to me in the least. In fact, it merely solidified my belief that our father saw his first born as a tool of war rather than a successor, whereas I had the skills of a political leader and the studied coolness of a member of the royal family. Despite my reputation for causing mischief (which was well-deserved), I was often able to temper Thor when he was taken to fits of impulsiveness and aggression, and my talents with magic were superior to any in the Realms save for Odin himself. True, I was not well-loved in Asgard, but I was not disliked for the most part._

 _Thus, it had never occurred to me that I would not be named the Allfather's heir._

 _To further illustrate my reasoning, I shall relate to you an event that occurred while Odin and Frigga had been away, and the defense of the people had been left to its princes. To Thor fell the command of Asgard's armies, while diplomatic and business responsibilities had been relegated to me. Unfortunately, Odin's absence had been noted by our enemies, and a surprisingly large number of marauders from the outskirts of our universe had taken the opportunity to stage an attack. I had immediately dispatched an envoy along with a number of soldiers to serve as a negotiating party, intending them to intercept the leaders of the offensive while they were still beyond our borders. I did not expect that this action would be successful - it was simply a means to stall the incoming army so that more robust preparations for war could be made. I then departed the throne room to find my brother so that we could establish a command center from which to plan our defense._

 _After much searching - during which I had grown more and more infuriated that I could not locate him at a time such as this - I found Thor upon the steps of the palace. He had the whole of Asgard's forces spread out before him, and he was whooping them up into a battle frenzy. It was obvious that he intended to lead them into the fray himself, which was both unnecessary and unwise considering the circumstances. It took a fair bit of shouting along with the interference of my two favorite feathered friends before I could get him to acknowledge me, and then I pulled him away from the manic horde in order to ask him (most unkindly) just what, precisely, he thought he was doing. His place was in Asgard, where he could still give orders to the battalions but also provide our people a sense of security. We were not even certain what manner of threat we were dealing with, since my emissaries had not yet returned. Furthermore, Odin had expressly forbidden either of us from leaving the palace in the event of a crisis. He had said that our realm would need both Thor's strength and my wit if we were to be set upon in his absence, a fact of which I summarily reminded him._

 _Thor laughed me off. The fire of battle was in his eyes, and he wore the smile of a man going off to enjoy his favorite game of sport, leaving me behind to bear all of the decision making and domestic responsibilities. I implored him almost to the point of my humiliation that he should remain at least until my envoy had returned, but he would not be swayed. The troops had thundered out on the backs of a thousand horses, with Thor at their head and Lady Sif slotted firmly at his side._

 _I returned to the citadel of_ _Valaskialf, my mood undeniably foul, and stared down any of the nobles who might even consider to challenge me. I had not taken my place upon the throne (though by rights I could have) but, rather, I had begun making preparations for whatever lay ahead. I recall little of my actions during Thor's absence, other than that I was barking orders and waving off advisors like a man possessed. Ultimately, we had weathered that invasion, for good or for ill, but I could not help but feel a rift had begun to form between myself and my brother that day. He had abandoned me, his city, and his people in order to indulge his lust for violence._

 _Heir to the Throne of Asgard, indeed._

 _It had not been too many years later when Odin had summoned Thor and I to the throne room to reveal his decision regarding his heir._ _The moment left me completely astounded, and I know my cheeks must have flushed with the disgrace of it. Thor barely knew the difference between Alfheim and Vanaheim, and he had never been further from Asgard than those two worlds in his lifetime. He was impetuous and ill-tempered; putting him on the throne would be a risk at best and, at worst, a vulnerability. Surely, the Allfather could see that. Therefore, if Odin was choosing to compromise Asgard in this manner, then it must be not because Thor had proven himself worthy but that I had somehow been deemed_ un _worthy. Trying to determine where I had failed had haunted my thoughts for decades._

 _Eventually, I think it may have begun to drive me a bit mad._


	12. Part 3: Ch 1

~~Chapter 1~~

The Perils of a Depth Not Known

Sakaar was worlds away from Asgard: both literally and figuratively. Passage to the remote planet was difficult to secure in this part of the universe, and the Bifröst certainly did not reach it. Consequently, Thor had sold most of his weapons and gear to Haag (they would be worthless to him where he was going, anyway), in order to secure passage to the remote world. This journey would take him farther from home than he had ever imagined that he would travel, which was an intimidating prospect, but he could not leave his companion to a horrific fate in a desolate corner of the universe. The only comfort he could find was that he would be well away from the snow and wind that continued to plague this realm.

Apparently, Sakaar was not a prime destination for anyone but criminals and Ravagers judging by both his company on the spacecraft and the meager accommodations. Thor spent two consecutive days and nights sitting on a cold metal bench with three other beings who looked as if they might shank him in the night for his few belongings. He was careful to hide what little gold he carried, whether it be in the form of coins or the brooch that fastened his cloak. When he slept at all it was only in shallow dozes, his subconscious mind still tracking the movements of the others with whom he shared the ship's hold. He could only assume that they were not members of the nobility from other worlds, due to their battered clothing and unwashed states; plus, he was also party to more swearing and spitting than he had ever experienced in Asgard. Overall, he was probably more sleep-deprived than he could ever remember being, and it had to be blatant in his worn features and severe expression. Still, looking mean and weathered was likely to be to his advantage at the moment.

There had been no time to obtain official diplomatic papers to present to the Grandmaster in order to declare his desire for an audience and voice assurances that his visit was not a threat or an act of espionage. However, if his host was as crazy and reckless as the tales would have one believe, then he would likely not be too strict on matters of decorum. Thor had sent a message over electronic lines of communication prior to his arrival, and that would simply have to suffice.

Upon docking on Sakaar, the Asgardian carefully inventoried his belongings before departing the ship, making certain that all of the items that might mark him as royalty were well-hidden for now and yet would be easily accessible when he would have need of them. There were several small, publicly hireable vehicles positioned where passengers disembarked, and Thor availed himself of the least damaged of these conveyances. The driver was as dirt-stained and bedraggled as everything else he had seen so far on this world, and Thor noted that his threadbare, dust-ridden jacket marked him as an ex-member of the Nova Corps - though whether he had earned the insignia or had merely relieved its former owner of the distinction was better off not known. What was fortunate is that he was not one for conversation, and it allowed the blonde man an opportunity to catch just a little more sleep before he arrived at his destination.

Sakaar was one of the most diverse worlds in the universe, and Crown City was its unofficial capitol. The identity of the planet's true native people was a subject that resulted in much debate but no true consensus as several species claimed true rights. Hence, the ruling body of its inhabitants changed too swiftly for a clear seat of government to be of any genuine significance, and there was a constant state of war between the four top contenders, as well as factions of the smaller races who pooled their resources with other claimants. The result was a world that knew constant discord. The perpetual chaos that engulfed it made Thor suspect that Loki had somehow been drawn to this place at one time or another. Surely, his brother's current incarnation would not be difficult to imagine wandering these labyrinthine streets, the tails of his dusty leather coat trailing him like the tips of flightless wings. That may have been what Thor had actually been dreaming of when the vehicle lurched to a nauseating stop.

"I asked to be brought to the Grandmaster's palace," Thor protested as he noted their current position. It was significantly far from his destination that he would need to walk the remaining distance over the course of at least a half an hour. In fact, the tip of the Great Hall was barely even visible upon the horizon.

"Sorry," the driver said, although his tone was anything but apologetic. "This is as close to the Grandmaster as anyone will take you. Anyone's who's sane, anyway." Despite the severity of his words, the driver seemed more than a little amused.

As vexing as this fact was, the Asgardian had little choice but to relent. The gratuity he gave the man was, therefore, less than generous, and this caused the transport operator to sniff arrogantly in response. "Good luck, mister," he growled as he sped away. Again, the sincerity of this declaration was severely lacking.

The beginning of his walk through Crown City was uneventful, save for the numerous sideways glances he received from passersby. Apparently, humanoid lifeforms were rare on Sakaar, because he seemed to be the center of attention no matter who he passed. The storefronts were minimally decorated and, like everything and everyone else on this planet, covered in a layer of clay-colored dust. Still, there was some dull coloring that tried to show through the coats of grime, and it managed to give the simple structures a little more life.

As Thor approached the palace, with its stone spires weathered from the dust-ridden breezes, the buildings became higher and the colors richer. Here there was more foot traffic, and the types of beings he encountered changed dramatically. They were tall and lithe with a ruddy complexion that was almost a dusty pink in the shadows of their setting sun. They were also decidedly humanoid, which made Thor realize that his earlier supposition had been incorrect. These citizens wore a form of silver armor that marked them as warriors, he presumed, although the plates of it covered only the most vulnerable areas due to the unsettling heat. Initially, he felt more at ease, since these citizens were more like Asgardians than the various races he had encountered further back; however, they still gave him the same circumspect glances that he had received before. He was also beginning to note a vague whispering emanating from among them that gave him a feeling that he was not particularly welcome. This realization presented its own dilemmas: if they should attack, he realized, he would be both unarmed and unfamiliar with their weapons of combat.

"Hey - big guy." The words were whispered with just enough volume that only he could hear them. Thor turned to see a creature, dull gray in color and covered mostly in a black hooded robe, mostly human-like in its form. He was turning a gray-green fruit back and forth in one hand, and Thor thought he might be about to offer it to him. Instead, he took a bite of it, the rind and flesh of the fruit so tough that he had to tear into it like meat despite the obvious presence of a few pointed teeth near the front of his jaw. As he chewed, he asked, "You headed for the palace?" The stranger's face had been hidden by his garment until that moment when he chose to look up at Thor with an impish grin. The smile reminded him of Loki's (who was never far from his thoughts, it seemed) and that made his plan of action much less complicated.

 _Not to be trusted. Move on._

As the blonde man strode away, the creature stood upright and took a few steps as if to follow him. "If you want to make it to the palace, you should hear me out." Thor paused but did not turn back to acknowledge him. "You see, you are about to be arrested for being outside of your barracks without an escort."

At that statement, Thor simply _had_ to look back.

"I could help you, if you wish. I could pretend to be accompanying you on an errand. It might spare you some time on the whipping post."

 _What in Hel was this thing talking about?_

Thor must have been sufficiently stunned by the discourse, since he barely registered the hooded being coming up to him and pushing him off in the direction of the palace once again.

"Combatants are not allowed out on the street without a warden," The creature had finished his odd snack and was now holding the warrior's comparatively enormous arm instead. He also appeared to be quickening their pace.

"I did not come here for combat," the Asgardian assured him. "I am here on a matter of diplomacy . . ."

The robed man cut off his speech with growing urgency. "If you are not a Combatant, then you sure as Calcalla look like one. The Imperials will make obvious assumptions." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. " _Have_ made obvious assumptions."

"Sure as _what?_ " was all Thor could manage as he was coaxed toward his destination.

"Calcalla: the tormentor of the dead in Sakaaran culture. He is the most powerful and horrible being I could think of on a moment's notice." The gray man shrugged. "Though I think he actually died in the arena a few light cycles ago."

"Arena?" Thor choked out. They were now within a hundred steps of the gates of the. Grandmaster's estate.

A long, ashen finger indicated the sloping edge of an enormous circular structure alongside the city. It loomed so far above the skyline that it was nearly invisible without looking up and beyond the borders of the populated areas.

"He was a Combatant?"

" _Was._ Yes." His escort chuckled unsettlingly. "I often wonder if he has to spend the afterlife afflicting himself with various torments now that he is dead. What do you suppose happens to the lords of the inglorious dead when they perish?"

"I did not imagine that they could." Thor chanced a look over his shoulder to see if any of the armor-clad citizens had begun to follow them. To his dismay, they had. About a dozen of them had formed a cluster that was trailing them, the line fanning out to cover more of the area in his wake.

"And the residents of this city think _me_ a Combatant? "

"One as large and battle-born as you could hardly be here as a tourist in their minds. A Combatant would either be here to fight for his life against his will or for the riches promised to him by a wealthy benefactor. Forgive me, but you do not look like a mercenary." The hooded creature glanced behind him at the Imperials on their trail, but, somehow, he did not seem the least bit concerned. "The fighters are not allowed outside of the arena without Minders, as I've said. The city would be in a state of frenzy if Combatants were found wandering loose near their homes. To them, you look like a warrior who has slipped his leash, and they would have you returned to the Arena as a slave."

Thor and his strange attendant were within a few steps of the gates now, and he could see that the main entrance was guarded only by one sentry: a tall, slender female whose armor was polished to such a shine that its reflection of the sun's fading light still nearly blinded him. She held a long, spearlike weapon with an elegantly curved blade, its length about that of a grown man's arm. Her complexion was leaden like his chaperone's, except that while he wreathed himself in shadow, she stood gloriously visible, a stern look upon her features that invited the challenge of an entire army when before her was only the two of them.

"Stop!" she bellowed, lowering the blade of her weapon to a threatening position. "Declare yourself and your business with the Grandmaster!"

"Very, well I have come to -" the robed man began, but she cut him off with a huff.

"I _know_ who you are, Angmo. I was speaking to the Combatant."

Thor could feel that his pursuers were still prowling several feet behind him and had formed a wall to prevent any attempt at retreat. "I am no Combatant," he stated, trying to make his voice as soothing and steady as possible. "I am Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard and son of Odin Allfather. I have sent word to the Grandmaster prior to my arrival. He is expecting me."

At the mention of this name and title, Angmo's face contorted into a look that was half surprise and half reverence. "And I was merely making sure that his, uh - his _Highness_ made it safely to his destination."

"A favor for which I am most grateful." The Asgardian was using all of his charm to win the woman's trust, and he flashed her a smile that had historically melted the defenses of the most stoic adversaries. "Now, if you will allow me . . . " Thor reached into the folds of his clothing to produce the pin with the Royal Seal, the one that typically fastened his cloak. The motion caused the guard to lift her blade as if she might relieve him of the hand that was trying to obtain it.

"Caiera, please," Angmo implored her. "Surely neither a Combatant nor an enemy of Sakaar would come to the gates of the palace alone. You could simply consult with the Master if you have any doubts."

Caiera lowered the threatening end of her spear while she stood silently, turning over Angmo's words for some logical flaw.

"The Grandmaster will be informed of your arrival," the guardian stated. Her voice was haughty and almost a little angry at having been outmaneuvered. She then made a sharp whistling noise with her teeth, and another sentry, dressed nearly identically, came to deliver the word to their . . . well, 'Lord,' was probably the word, but 'Overlord' might be closer to the mark.

Thor ceased trying to find the brooch, since it seemed as if he would be allowed entry without formalities. He still stood within a circle of observers, which he could feel still lurking behind his back, but he held his gaze forward and his chin high so that he might maintain his nobility in front of his audience. In the universe beyond the Nine Realms, he supposed the Sakaarans had heard of Asgardians but likely had never set eyes upon one of their number. It was only rational that they would treat him as a curiosity, he reassured himself.

The dispatched guard returned. His face was severe, although that seemed to be a commonality between all of those within their ranks. The man stood on tiptoe the female guard was a few inches taller than him and whispered what was presumably the reply into her ear.

Caeira strode a few steps closer to Thor's position, but she did not brandish her weapon, which made him hopeful. "The Master says that he has heard no word of your business here on Sakaar. He demands that you produce a Royal Seal in order to prove your identity."

The Asgardian's stomach quivered just a bit at these words. Had his dispatch not been received? Perhaps not, for there were bound to be many potential failures with messaging across such distances. The presentation of a Royal Seal was a way to confirm one's highborn identity across the galaxies, and so he was relieved that he had the pin in his possession. Items emblazoned with such insignia were rare and well-guarded among regents, as they served as indelible proof of one's name. When he produced it, they would surely allow him entry. That, along with the nobility of his looks, should be more than enough evidence, for he hoped that he still resembled a prince, at least a little, beneath his rumpled, dusty apparel. He reached in for the golden emblem . . .

 _Gone._

But that was not possible. He had felt its shape within his breast pocket just before crossing over into the Imperial part of the city. He felt the other pockets of his garment, but all were empty, including the one that had contained his change from hiring the driver. He had been pick-pocketed, and by a very crafty assailant indeed. _No matter,_ he assured himself. There was still the key to his chambers at the palace in Asgard that bore the Seal. The symbol was quite small, but it would suffice.

"Just a moment," Thor laughed, his nerves causing his voice to waver slightly. "I simply need a little time to retrieve it from my belongings." He carefully slid the rucksack he carried off of his shoulder, hands in plain sight so as not to alarm the guards, though they readied their weapons, regardless.

Thor dipped into every corner of the bag, but there was still no key. He could feel the band of citizens beginning to close on him. "Wait! I know I have something that will prove who I am. Just give me a moment!"

"You have had your moment," Caeira informed him. "And it has yielded nothing." She stepped back and nodded to the members of the crowd, who quickly surrounded him. He could feel them straining to ensnare his hands, and his arms were being forced ungently towards his back.

 _This cannot be happening. It simply cannot be happening._

Still, Thor had not yet descended into full panic. Even without Mjölnir, he was a fierce and talented warrior, and, in the heat of combat, he could often summon the strength of a dozen of his kind. He pulled back against the hands that were grappling with his arms. "Hear me, please!" he cried, but the din of his would-be captors was drowning him out.

Suddenly, he felt the sizzle of electricity against his leg. It created a dull pain, although it was not likely enough to trouble even the smallest creatures of this realm. He shoved the device that had caused it away roughly. Then, his legs folded beneath him. Thor had lost sensation in them, and the deadened feeling surged upward so that he fell first to his knees and then flat onto his chest. He tried to cry out, to plead again for the mercy of his attackers, but his tongue had begun to feel large and sluggish within his mouth. The hands that struggled to bind him suddenly won when his upper limbs could no longer function. He had a vague sense that they had clamped some sort of restraint upon his wrists, but it was lost to him as his vision was enveloped by darkness.

***.**.***

The guards had come and gone after leaving their new acquisition. Now, the enclosures were lit by scarce torchlight, and the beast could only see the quivering edges of the shadows outside his cell. He had been pacing the length and breadth of it, which was typical since he had no clear thoughts and little else to occupy him. His enormous hands tested the strength of the collar at his neck as well as the shackle on his ankle, but they were firm, as usual. He grunted, trying to form words that he knew were circling around somewhere in his mind, maddeningly out of his reach . . .

The new Combatant had been still since he was dumped into the cage across and slightly to the right of the creature's. Now, he rolled onto his shoulder ever so slightly and moaned before collapsing bonelessly back to the dirt. The beast tried to size him up, knowing that he would likely be competition in the future, but there was little that he could perceive in the darkness. He could tell, however, that the new recruit had long, golden hair (which would be mostly shorn from him as soon as he was properly conscious) and shoulders that looked almost too broad for his sturdy frame. However, since the whole of his neck and then some would fit nicely in the beast's fist, he was not overly concerned with him.

Right now the monster was going to sit again, although his bulk made everything in the chamber just a bit too small for his size. He dropped down hard onto the bench that lined one wall, his tremendous hands dangling before him. Out of habit, he picked up the one item in his cell that was not a part of the interior in some way, something that he lifted to his face and studied from time to time, but it had never made sense. The tiny wire frame was so thin that he could only dangle it gently between two fingers, and the metal held two nearly circular pieces of transparent glass, one of which now had a series of cracks marring its lower corner. He studied them as he had countless times before, surveying the strange object for some meaning as to why it was here.

The blonde man stirred again, but this time his groan formed some words . "I am . . . the son of Odin . . ." he panted, but he was unable to sustain speech for any meaningful length of time.

The voice stirred something within the creature. It belonged to another world, a place and time that he could not conjure up clearly in his mind. He studied the object again, and he suddenly had the vague idea that it belonged to him - that this was something he had attached to his face in some manner. But that could not be, because his head was far too large for such a tiny thing to surround, and, oddly, this thought made him incredibly sad. A whimper escaped the monster, but the sound only caused the rage to swell again in his chest, a fury that needed urgent release. The sob became a howl that transitioned into a roar, and he flung the wire thing outward, his awful cry becoming constant. He wrapped his massive fingers around the bars, and yanked at the metal repeatedly, the persistent clamor intensifying. The sound of his roar echoed back, and the volume of it stung his own ears when it came returned to him in such an enclosed space.

The two Minders assigned to the creature's hall looked at each other nervously. "It's him again, isn't it?" asked the first. The other man nodded. "Well, I went last time, Garn. This time he's all yours."

Garn produced a pistol-type device from behind the armor at his waist. The gun was primed with a terribly thick projectile, and it had a massive needle exposed at its tip. Cautiously, the guard moved down the hallway with the weapon at the ready. "Alright, Hulk," he announced, the words tinged with anxiety. "Time to go to sleep now."


	13. Part 3: Ch 2

~~Chapter 2~~

Fears and Old Surrenderings

There were endless corners of Asgard and its surrounding lands that Loki might have chosen for his exile, but Valkyrie knew that he would favor only a handful of these possibilities. The primary difficulty was not in pulling herself through the tremendous wind and terrible cold; she had known all manner of weather in her many years in Asgard, and this storm was not unlike some nights she had endured atop the mountains of this land. What was more challenging was that this snow was thicker than the wispy, windblown flakes to which she was accustomed, and the act of navigating in these conditions had become almost a matter of faith.

First, she tried a smattering of foothills beyond the furthest reaches of the forest which Loki had used as a refuge in the past. There were several hollows there that had been burrowed deeply into the soil by a people long extinct, and these had served as a suitable retreat for a brooding Prince when he did not wish to be found. These cavities were now inhabited by many of the surrounding fauna who were trying to save their lives in the ferocity of the storm. However, there were no Asgardians among them.

Her next hypothesis was the underground passages near Nastrond. These caves had been formed by ancient rivers, a subterranean network of narrow tunnels that opened into three moderately sized caverns and one enormous chamber that had once been the lair of a rather nasty dragon. Unfortunately, the heavy snowfall had long filled the mouth of the entrance to the passageways. If anything had sought shelter here, it would have suffocated long ago.

There were a couple of remaining candidates that were very unlikely and one that was looking probable, and yet . . . no. Surely, Loki would not have gone there. It was a location far up in the westward mountains but not high enough to be beyond the reach of the snow. From that vantage you could see the whole of Asgard, true, but when the storm was in full gale, the visibility would have been negligible. The only genuine reason that he would have to conceal himself in that place was sentimentality _._ It was illogical, but it was the only remaining option that made any sort of strategic sense.

So, it was off to the westward mountains with all haste. The more swiftly she reached him, the sooner she could put this whole affair to rest and return to her own mountain hideaway. She would need some rest in the weeks to come if the signs were to be believed, for she would be ferrying the weight of many souls across the Sea of Marmora and into the realm of the illustrious dead. There would be many souls that would depart Asgard after having suffered a warrior's death, born away to Valhalla by either her or one of her sisters. There were still others who would descend into the realm below, perhaps couriered there by the twisted reflections of the Valkyrie: the Dísir.

Loki and Brunnhilde had been friends once, and that kinship had lasted for many decades. It was an easy association with no pressure of further intimacies to be endured, for valkyries did not enter into carnal relationships with those not of their own kind, and, even among her own species, procreation was an act of emotionless duty. The fact was, the mischievous prince had made her laugh (although she had tried desperately not to show it), and their intellects had connected over some common interests. Since she was sworn to watch over him anyway, there was little harm in spending entire days discussing and debating their mutual passions. Eventually, they had grown apart, and the arrangement with Frigga to keep him safe was gradually extinguished. Perhaps the Queen had finally realized what had been obvious to Valkyrie all along: that it was pointless to try to keep him sheltered from risk. When there was no immediate peril at hand, Loki would never fail to make his own trouble.

 _How long had it been?_ Valkyrie tried to recall as she quickened the powerful sweep of her wings against the changing wind. _How long since she had last been face-to-face with him?_ It had been when she had accompanied him to the dungeon, of course. Loki had been as insolent and clever as he had ever been when he went before the Allfather to hear his fate, but he was not the same man, not by any measure. The physical differences were not subtle: his armour was nicked, scratched, and unpolished - shabby in every way he would never have allowed it to become before he fell into madness. He wore his hair past shoulder-length now, though he had likewise done so for a time in the past. It was just that then he had kept it immaculately arranged, even tying it back or braiding parts of it when he thought that there might be a great deal of physical exertion to tousle it. Now . . . well, now it looked as if he had just awoken from a troubled slumber and had not even bothered to tend to it. There was also a restless energy lurking behind his eyes where before there had been only cool confidence. It was as if he expected pain or death from every unseen corner, while at the same time projecting a different kind of poise that proclaimed he was willing to do what was required to survive, no matter how messy the result. It was the demeanor of a cornered animal, and this creature was dangerous beyond imagining.

 _What in Hel had happened between then and now?_

Loki had gone from a warrior to a killer, that much was clear. He was no longer the mouthy, insufferable youth with the hidden charm over which she had attended in his convalescence. He had seen worlds and experienced hardships beyond any that were achievable here in Asgard, and what the corners of the cosmos had spat back out was a miscreant beyond all comprehension: callous and cruel, but brilliant and charismatic by the same token. He was a vacant thing, as beautiful as he was mad - and disturbingly powerful. The blending of these traits produced an entity that could dabble among the major villains in the universe without fear, only with the price that his mind would never again be at peace.

What was most troubling about the whole of his transformation was not his physical decline, although Valkyrie knew that she should have held this as her gravest concern. The dilemma was that this variant of her former ward was infinitely more compelling to her than the one she had once known. Somehow, _this_ Loki affected her in ways that she never expected to be. Like the spellbinding tendrils of a recently stoked fire, the idea of him was enthralling in its wicked grace, and yet treacherous to approach lest one be consumed by its turmoil. Hence, her vow to keep her distance. By doing so, she hoped to stay out of range of his most deadly weapon: his sadistic and seductive tongue.

Before the winged woman was within a hundred yards of her destination, she knew that she had chosen correctly. She made a circling approach along the top of the peak, which allowed her to see the entrance of the cave, its edges glowing warmly with the light of the fire that had been lit inside. When she landed, she choose a point several steps down the path from the entrance so that her presence would not be detected, even when she shuddered her great wings to clear them of the clinging precipitation. She then crept slowly toward the mouth of the entryway, one hand steadying the sword at her hip so that it would not tap against her armor and reveal her. This had to be his refuge, she swore to herself, but she could not return to Thor until she had confirmed it with her own eyes.

As she grew nearer, Valkyrie felt the pulse of her heart grow more forceful, as if she feared what she might find. But this could not be so, for the valkyries do not fear. Still, if that were so, how could she explain the heaviness of her steps, practically pulling her in opposition to her steady approach?

The first sounds she heard were puzzling: a rhythmic clicking and a rustling of feathers. Beneath these odd noises was the murmuring of two voices that were not Aesir. They were rough and nasal - unmistakably avian in origin.

 _Hugin and Munin. Of course._

The presence of these two royal envoys was proof enough of what (or rather, who) dwelled within. She should have turned back exactly then and carried her report to the Prince of Asgard as she had been bidden to do. As she had vowed to herself that she would. But she made a fatal mistake by hesitating just long enough for the meddlesome edges of her curiosity to begin to stir. _What if he was not here? What if he had somehow slipped the scrutiny of Odin's ravens and gone elsewhere_? The storms had grown frequent and vicious enough that these fragile creatures would no longer be able to trust that their strength would carry them through the winds without crushing them against the surrounding rock. Perhaps he had gone and they dared not follow. No, she had to lay eyes upon him.

Brunnhilde unfastened the sheath from her waist and lowered the steel blade it carried softly to the ground. It would be a hindrance not just because it could clatter against the narrow halls of the interior but because it would be a subconscious threat to her mark if he should catch sight of her. It was not worth imagining how this scene might play out if Loki believed she had been dispatched to kill him.

As she rounded the lip of the entrance, the two birds started, their sleek, black feathers ruffling in response to the threat. She swiftly pressed a quieting finger to her lips, and they mercifully heeded her suggestion. There was an inner chamber that Loki would most likely have chosen as his own, since it would put another layer between him and the howling gales of the mountains. It was also confirmed to be the source of the fire that warmed the interior.

She lingered there for a dozen heartbeats, listening intently for sounds of motion, but nothing came. She chanced another step forward, then another, and stopped to listen again. Now she could hear something soft like the whisper of fabric against itself but too even to be random movement. She dared just one more step, her body pressed to the stone so that she would not be seen. The rhythmic sound continued, unabated.

Her pulse thundered in her throat as she extended her neck to peer around the edge. She could see the fire burning in a nook carved into the far wall and feel the breath of its warmth upon the exposed skin of her cheek. It had not been present when she had last brought him here, and so he must have added that feature himself when he realized that his exile might be quite lengthy indeed. Still, there was no sign of the one who had constructed it - not a shadow or a shift that might betray his presence.

Except for that regular whispering. The sound of his breathing.

As she peered fully around the corner and into the room, she saw him there, lying upon a rudimentary cot. Atop this ragged structure lay a mattress that had been messily thatched with blond strands of straw, and the exposed stems extended like fingers through the careless fall of his ebony hair. One arm was limp above his head, and his face was turned away, resting on his right shoulder. He was sleeping.

 _Oh, thank goodness._ Now she only had to slip away softly, out of the mouth of the cave and into the much less intimidating conditions outside . . . but still she lingered. Somehow she could not resist this intimate chance to observe him in his dormancy. Relaxed and in slumber, the pale surface of his face was less lined with distress, and he seemed more like the younger man she had known. Yet she feared those eyes he bore, the ones that had seen too much and that now knew every fear and fancy that played within the mind of whomever he trained his mind upon. She knew that if he were to fix them upon her, she would be lost.

Valkyrie finally turned back toward the entrance, the armour on her shoulder scraping the stone ever so slightly as she did so. The noise this motion had made was minimal, but she still hesitated for a few beats just to be certain that he had not awoken. There was no audible response from the inner chamber so she began to make her exit as swiftly as she dared. There were less than ten steps remaining to the exit when she heard a word at her back.

"Brunnhilde?"

Hearing her name spoken so gently in that honeyed voice was enough to strangle her breath and stop her cold, but she did not circle back to face him. A weighty silence was suspended between the two of them, and she could feel her pulse begin to grow more insistent within her chest.

"I always knew that they would send someone to find me. I never dreamed it would be you." The haze of sleep was still audible in the hoarseness of his voice. Now that he had awakened, she could feel a second presence in the room that was not corporeal but that filled the area around them fully. It was his magic - much stronger than it had been in the past - and it had risen along with him. It was passive at the moment, awaiting any call from its master to do as it was bidden in response to the thinnest hint of a threat. "My concern, of course, is _why_ have they sent you?" he challenged, his voice bleeding from a soothing tone into a more steely one. "Have you come bearing a warning in response to my little performance at Odin's Council? Or could your purpose be more sinister?"

As long as she did not look at him she would be fine. As long as she did not speak, she could still leave without succumbing to him.

"Why do you not answer me?" The question was not colored by suspicion or impatience. In fact, his words were as steady and composed as if he were sipping wine in his chambers back in Asgard. "Has Odin forbidden it of you? Or is it that you cannot bear to look me in the eye because your intent is nefarious?" Now his tone was drifting into a low, menacing rumble.

 _You have found him,_ she told herself. _You cannot speak to him, and you cannot face him, so you should flee into the sky and return to Valaskíalf. There is nothing to hold you here._

"Is that it, Brunnhilde?" he continued in a darkly teasing lilt. He was likely armed, she realized, judging by what sounded to be a blade being exposed from its sheath. "Did Odin send you? Did he dispatch you to _kill me?"_

"No!" This treacherous answer left her lips before she could prevent it.

"So, what, is this then? A social call?"

Another seemingly eternal pause ensued.

"I see," he mused. "You have come all this distance in a legendary storm in order to ignore me." He dropped onto a nearby chair. Without seeing him, she knew that he had crossed his legs and was running a hand through the hair at the top of his head. "So if you do not wish to speak to me, then why do you linger?"

Valkyrie shook her head stiffly.

"Well, we are at quite an impasse. You will not talk to me, but you will not go. If you are too obstinate to do either, then I suppose you shall eventually become part of the furnishings."

There was a muted squawk from one of the two ravens who were still perched in a far corner, and it may have been a sort of laugh, if she was judging correctly. She gave it a spiteful glance.

Loki sighed. "This is madness, Brunnhilde. Why will you not speak to me?"

"Because I made myself a promise," she murmured through the shame of her weakness.

"And now you have broken it. So, please sit with me and tell me why have you come all of this way to lurk outside my bedchamber."

"I was hardly lurking," she retorted. Hesitantly, she turned toward him, her arms folding at her chest instinctively. She settled upon a stool at his left since it would not interfere with her wings, but she did not raise her gaze to his face, dreading the full effect of his eyes on her own.

"Will you still not _look_ at me?" he asked. This request was almost a whisper, and he actually sounded a bit wounded. "How are we to have a proper conversation if you cannot even bear the sight of me?"

This was the very moment she had feared, and the peril of it hung thickly around her. It was like the first second before a slip from a high precipice, where you can see your fate hurtling toward you but are powerless to prevent it. Her wings could not save her from this fall.

She raised her chin.

He was much as she had imagined he would be. His legs were crossed, one bare foot dangling from the edge of the chair, and he was picking meticulously at his nails with the tip of the dagger she had anticipated. For an instant., she wondered how he could endure having his skin exposed in the cold of the cave, but then the truth of his heritage reminded her: he was born of the cold and had been built to withstand it. When he sensed that she had lifted her face to him, he looked up from his cursory task.

His hair was ruffled from his slumber, but that was more or less the same dishevelled state that it was always in these days. He looked younger in this position without his armor to protect him, but the illusion fell away when she met his stare. Loki had always been clever, but now his eyes reflected a mind that was constantly consumed with a thousand thoughts - endless harrowing memories. She had looked into them hundreds of times over the years, and even now she was unsure if they were green or blue, for they changed with the quality of the light. Backlit by the flames, they looked as blue-green as the Sea of Marmora and equally as tempestuous.

Loki was the first to break the silence. "Because I have a generous spirit, I will allow you the first question," he said. She could sense that he was still wary of her motives.

"Very well," she said. Although this was a difficult moment, she could still use it as an opportunity to sate her curiosity. "Why here?"

This particular hideout had been a favorite retreat of theirs. It was a place where they could have their conversations without fear of interruption, even though she had needed to carry him here lest it would take the better part of a day for him to reach it on foot. Loki had always seemed oddly trepidatious about the flight, and yet he never seemed more free than when he was up here among the wind and the clouds (as long as there was solid stone beneath his feet, that is). He often let his gaze drift far out into the mist and over the wide expanse of Asgard, his eyes bright and fearless. It had been a refreshing transformation.

Here and now, his heedful expression had not wavered. "I suppose you think it was an act of sentiment on my part?" One of his eyebrows cocked haughtily at the suggestion. "I assure you it was not. This venue was chosen for its occasional panoramic views of Asgard, as well as its low probability of discovery." He ran a thumb recklessly over the upper half of the blade he still held, but he was scrupulous enough not to draw blood. "You see, you are the only other soul in all the Realms who knew about this place. And you were the one person I never expected to come for me."

This confession hit her hard, as it was undoubtedly meant to.

He was angling for an argument, a chance to get under her skin and throw her off balance. She could not play his game - he was far too clever and unrelenting. So she simply offered him the pieces of her devotion that she would have him know before she was helplessly outmaneuvered.  
"Why would you think that I would treat our past affections so lightly? Have I given you reasons to doubt me?"

"Yes," he said, allowing that vague response to settle between them without elaboration.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me when?"

"When you escorted me to the palace dungeons. You would not speak to or even look at me. Much the same as you will not tonight."

If he could only have known how it had hurt her to fulfill that duty. How she had wept - as Thor had witnessed, to her horror - when she had forsaken him to what was meant to be an eternal fate. "I have my loyalties, Loki, and I have taken oaths regarding Odin and the kings that preceded him. Yet I also have allegiances to those I consider friends, and you have been the closest one of mine in a millennium. I would not comply with an order to kill you, if that is what you fear."

The corner of his lips crooked in amusement. She could tell by the glint of mischief in his eyes that he was unconvinced and that he fully intended to expose her perjury. "So, if you had been commanded to murder me by the Allfather himself, you would abandon all your sacred oaths? You would choose to spare a life that - having become so clearly wicked - is not worth saving, simply because of the bond we once shared? Truly, Brunnhilde, it is _I_ who should think less of _you_ at this moment. You could not avoid breaking your vows of fealty if you refused."

"Do you think me so callous that I would come for you as an assassin? After all that we have

shared?"

"If Odin asked you to - yes, I believe you would."

That admission lay between them in the cold and damp of the cave like a living thing whose fragile existence depended entirely upon whatever was said next. Loki's eyes were clouded and his jaw taut, causing his lips to part just slightly, and he clasped his hands together in his lap while waiting for her response. He looked anxious, she thought. Perhaps her coming here had meant more to him than she had assumed.

"There are ways to fulfill my duties without betraying you." She was mesmerized by the way his long, elegant fingers were tangling and untangling as she spoke, and when his movements caused his eyes to lose the glow of the fire they darkened, their color drifting to a liquid-like emerald. He chuckled, and they glinted again.

"And how exactly would you defy the King of Asgard and the Protector of the Nine Realms, to whom you have sworn an oath of eternal allegiance, my lady?"

"I would decline the assignment. He would have to choose another upon whom to bestow his command."

His reply was not more than a murmur, the softness lending a rasping quality and a lower register to his voice. "So you would allow another to kill me, but you just could not do it yourself? How noble."

Something was wrong about this, she realized suddenly. There was an ache forming in the middle of her chest, and, along with it, a compulsion that was unidentifiable. It was like a prickling need, but the nature of it was unknown to her, causing her to become unsettled with an urge to either flee or to shed her own skin. Perhaps this was the result of the use of his magic upon her, and he was trying to bewitch her into doing his will. Yet, though the presence of his power was still manifest in the room, it did not feel any closer to her than it had in the beginning.

"I am not here to harm you, Loki, I swear. You can see that I am unarmed." _Unlike yourself,_ she wanted to say. "And, incidentally, it was not the Allfather who sent me so any vows I may have sworn to him are of no consequence." She probably seemed a little breathless from her struggle with the feeling that was rising within her, but she managed to stubbornly force out the words.

He sat back and brought one slender finger to rest upon the crease between his lips while he carefully laid his weapon on the table at his side. His brow had creased and his long eyelashes fluttered for a moment in indecision. He was troubled by her answer . . . or possibly surprised. She held a breath waiting for him to speak, but he did not respond. Instead he stood, unwinding his graceful limbs and turning away from her. He braced one arm upon the stone wall and bowed his head, and this action caused the silken threads of his ebony hair to spill around the sides of his face.

The ache intensified.

"If Odin did not send you, then who?" Loki demanded.

"I think you know."

"I have my suspicions, but I want to hear you say it." There was a quiver in his voice, a product of his own conflicted emotions.

"It was Thor," she breathed. "Thor sent me to find you."

"To what end?" he growled, frustration roughening his words.

"So that he could come for you himself, when he was able."

Loki's eyes sought the ceiling, as if the answer to why his foolish brother would defy his father's command and risk his own safety to find him would be written upon it. She rose without thinking and crossed over to where he stood, his back still to her.

"Why, Brunnhilde?" he asked. "Why in _Hel_ would he defy Odin to find me? He would only call down the Allfather's wrath upon himself. It does not make sense."

Finally, the impulse found its outlet, as she subconsciously wound her arms around him. She rested her head upon the back of his and whispered into the nape of his neck: "You Aesir are so sightless. The answer to your question is plain, and still you refuse to see it because it is the one thing you cannot accept."

Loki shook his head.

Still behaving completely on the strange urge that plagued her, Valkyrie reached out with her hand and covered his, although it was still pressed firmly to the wall.

"Because he loves you."

This revelation nearly broke him, and he buckled in her arms. He was able to catch himself before he completely revealed the effect that this notion had had on him, but the truth was still there: _stupid, foolish, imbecilic, moronic . . . well, a complete dimwit is what Thor had to be. This was too precarious a task to undertake for the sake of baseless emotion._

Though his face was hidden behind the strands of his hair, she knew that he was not weeping - merely processing the full extent of the emotion that she had laid bare before him. Thus, it seemed an appropriate moment to fold her wings around the both of them, and his hand sought the arm that still held him over his chest, grasping it faintly. He was thinking, she realized, and this was the reason for his protracted silence. Finally, he pulled her arm away from his torso and pushed back against her to signal that he wanted to move. She withdrew both her wings and her limbs and waited for the result of his ponderings.

"I am returning with you to Asgard," he stated.

"No," she replied with authority. "The Allfather cannot afford to be merciful this time. It would be interpreted as a fatal show of weakness by our people and our allies. If he does not execute you, he will lose the respect of the whole Nine Realms."

The sadness was gone from his visage as if it never existed, his hand stroking his jawline while the gears of his mind churned wildly. "I am a villain - yes, I know this. He could not possibly allow me to dwell within his kingdom without making an example of me." This was said dismissively, but she could still detect a hint of sarcasm threading between the words. "So it makes still less sense for Thor to risk inviting severe consequences if he defies Father for the third time in as many years. He would also be made to serve as an example." Loki had not seemed to notice that he had referred to Odin as his own father during this exhortation. "I cannot allow him to face such punishment just to speak with me. No, I will return to Asgard."

"And if you are caught?"

"Then I shall die again," he mused. "But that is a fate I no longer fear."

"And why not?" she asked imperiously.

"Well, my dear Brunnhilde," he laughed. "It is a matter of learning by repetition. You see, my deaths just never seem to stick."


	14. Part 3: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

To See Him Stand Where Many Fell

Thor awakened slowly from his drug-induced slumber with his temples pounding and his memory distorted. At first he could only remember the darkened hall at the Nornkeep, and so he swung fruitlessly at visions of demon creatures in the shadows. Since his balance had also been affected, his efforts only caused him to lurch crazily back to the dirt in his cell, landing hard on one elbow. Still, the pain of that fall was nothing compared to the searing burn where the device had incapacitated him. At least that hurt was bringing back some recollection of how he had ended up here.

He felt filthy and sweaty, covered in the dust from both the floor of his cage and the atmosphere itself, and he predicted that his hair must also be a tangled, dirty mess. He reached back over his shoulder to confirm this, but he could not find the strands of his locks. Reaching further up on the back of his head, he felt what he had feared: it had been shorn nearly to the skin, and what hair remained on the crown of his head was barely long enough for him to run his fingers through.

 _Okay, no need to panic,_ Thor calmed himself. _There was still time to sort all of this out before it went any further._

The Aesir stumbled over to the bars and tried to see as far to the left and the right as was possible. There was an endless line of cells on either side, with the steadily brightening light of the rising sun filtering through the bars of each chamber. In some of the more distant enclosures, the light betrayed the presence of someone (or something) within, because a shadow could be seen bobbing and lengthening along with the movement of its occupant. However, his fellow prisoners were too far away to communicate with effectively. His gaze was then captured by a pen across the corridor that was offset from the position of his own. The interior was enormous, more than twice again the size of the others, and the scale of the bench and wooden eating utensils it held suggested that its occupant was huge, indeed.

Currently, there was no one inside it to confirm this hypothesis.

He slumped onto the wooden bench that ran the length of the back wall and rubbed at his temples, trying in vain to soothe the pounding behind his eyes. He continued to regain shades of his recollections: _a tall, gray woman who had scowled at him while wielding a long, bladed weapon. A man of her same species - 'Angmo,' the woman had called him - who had placed his arm around Thor's shoulder and led him toward a palace he had never had the chance to enter._ This last creature had possessed a reasonable facsimile of Loki's spurious smile. The skillful pickpocket, no doubt.

There was not enough time available to dwell upon this infuriating deception right now. Currently, he needed to be forming a plan to contact the Grandmaster so he could convince him of his identity and then negotiate the release of Dr. Banner. Surely if he could get the attention of the guards, they could be persuaded to allow him an audience with their Master. Again, for the hundredth time in a fortnight, he found himself wishing that his crafty sibling was at his side. During their previous adventures, Loki had been the one to verbally ensnare their captors, and he had been unbelievably skilled at it.

"Get up, get up, you wretched scum!" This teasing voice echoed from somewhere among the halls, and it was followed by the grating sound of a metal instrument being tapped against the bars of each cell that its owner passed. "Time to earn your keep! Let's see those war faces, you babies!"

As the sound of the unpleasant taunter grew nearer, Thor could hear the unhinging of doors and the rattling of chains. He pressed his body to the cold iron door so that he would be sure to catch the attention of whoever might be approaching. He need not have bothered, for the noisome being in question stopped right at the entrance to his compartment and looked him directly in the eye. The stranger had to stoop a little in order to do so for he was a third again the height of Thor and twice the girth. He gave the Asgardian a wicked grin and then pounded against the gate of his cell with the large metal rod he carried. "You, too, blondie!" he instructed with a laugh. The clamor of metal against metal caused Thor to draw back several feet.

"That's right, princess," the gargantuan beast sneered at him. "You're going to see some action today, so no more beauty sleep for you. It's time you earned your room and board, pretty boy." Then the huge man walked swiftly away before Thor could utter as much as a syllable.

"Wait - !" Thor tried to yell after him, but he was then confronted with a pair of bird-like men, their shoulders muscular and broad and the crowns of their heads crested with amusing fans of feathers. One of them set to unlocking the chamber door, while the other prodded him forcefully with a stick, the tip of which sent an unpleasant and restraining shock throughout his skin. The resulting vulnerability lasted mere moments, but it was enough for the two creatures to encase his wrists in heavy chains. From their quickness and practiced technique, he could tell that they had done this dozens (if not hundreds) of times.

"What are you doing?" Thor protested. He tried to twist out of the grip of the avian being that reached for the fetters binding his wrists. Meanwhile, the other one was securing a pair of manacles around both of his ankles. "I need to speak to the Grandmaster!" he tried to blurt out quickly before they had finished their work. "This is all a mistake! I am Thor, Prince of -"

This declaration only earned him another jolt from the electric prod as a large iron ring was fastened around his neck. "Silence!" said the birdman on his left, his voice raspy. "Here you are neither who you once were nor who you would otherwise have become. You will fight for the glory of the Grandmaster, and only the Fates can say whether you will live or die." He was then led out by the thick links of chain that were attached to his throat.

As they followed the other prisoners out of the shadows of the dungeon and into the burgeoning daylight, he tried once more to plead for his freedom. "Please, I only need to speak to the Grandmaster -"

This time the electricity stung him in a sensitive area. Thor collapsed helplessly to the dirt below his feet. He then had to struggle to right himself again by scrabbling for purchase without the aid of his hands, scraping both of his knees raw in the process.

"Oh, you _shall_ speak to him," the one on his right informed him stoically. "Or, rather,he shall speak to _you_."

After this last assault, Thor felt it was wise not attempt to communicate again. Besides, they said they were taking him to their Master. He would have his audience one way or another.

***.**.***

The arena was even more enormous than he had perceived from within the city. It looked as if it could hold thousands of spectators - or at least that was the impression Thor received from surveying the outer walls. However, he would need to be patient in order to confirm this suspicion because he and the other Combatants were being steered toward an arched opening in the structure's exterior wall. Within was a roomy audience chamber containing a series of staggered platforms, and these led up to a stone chair that was currently unoccupied. As soon as the last of the fighters were within the confines of the room, an entourage of about a dozen beings of various alien races entered from the right of the throne. They were dressed in similar claret-colored robes, and their hoods were pulled back in order to display their faces. The shapes of varying types of weaponry protruded from beneath their overgarments.

The room fell eerily still save for the rhythmic clanking of chains as one of the prisoners moved restlessly. This stillness changed when a small entourage of gray creatures - the same species as Angmo, he presumed - entered and made a semicircle, their backs to the throne. "All Hail the Grandmaster!" declared the one just to the right of the great chair.

With these few words, the entirety of the room fell to one knee - prisoners and guards alike - save for Thor, who was unfamiliar with the protocol. For a moment he considered joining the others in their gesture of submission but then decided that he would prefer to confront the Grandmaster standing on his feet.

One quick jab with the electric prod made him reconsider.

En Dwi Gast, Elder of the Universe and lover of all manner of games, strode in with his steps meticulous and his posture perfect. His garments were likewise impeccably kept, from the supple leather of his gloves to the exquisitely woven cloth of his tunic and cape, which were both cut from a fabric so fine that its like could not possibly exist within the laws of this universe. The soft yellow and blue hues of his clothing were in flagrant contrast to the deep colors worn by the robed figures, and the effect was that he seemed immaculate - untouchable. His hair was white, almost purely so save for the occasional wisp of silver that wove itself through the strands, and it was turned up at the ends in a manner that defied physics. He swept his cape aside with a flourish and then relaxed into the seat that had been meant for him, a pair of blood-hued eyes with no irises observing his supplicants with no more regard than he would the cold, soulless pieces on a chessboard.

The Grandmaster's long fingers curled in a gesture that suggested they could all rise, and they did so. "I will now hear my venerations," he declared.

"Excuse me, Grandmast-" Thor began, but then was soundly dropped again by that infernal prod.

"Not you," said the avian guard on his left, his tone one of blatant revulsion.

The robed figures approached their Master in a single-file line until they reached the foot of the outermost platform. There they began alternating between left or right, forming a row along the front of it. All of this was done with such precision that it must have been a well-practiced ritual, Thor realized.

The grey creature who was acting as a spokesman called out: "Are there any among these Petitioners who would offer less than their lives for the honor of glorious battle?"

"No!" the robed ones cried out in unison.

"Are there any among you who fear the glory of a moment in the arena with the bravest and most terrible warriors in the universe?"

"No!" came the answer again.

During this display, the Grandmaster was studying the condition of his nails as if he were sitting quietly in a garden. "Present to me your weapons," he said without looking up from his fingers. His voice was smooth, its register high enough that it took on an almost feminine quality, and he sounded conspicuously bored.

The robed figures stepped forward in near unison and produced their various arms from beneath the fabric that surrounded them. Starting from the furthest man on the left, the potential fighters stepped forward in turn and held their choice of weapons high and at the center of their body. They then knelt once more, and laid their armaments upon the ground to either side of themselves. Each one then bowed from his already crouched position until his forehead was touching the cool stone of the floor beneath him and then remained there until all of the supplicants had finished performing this same action.

(During this display, Thor thought he heard a low roar coming from somewhere inside the arena, but he tried not to dwell upon it for now.)

It was then that Gast rose and drifted along the row of reverent warriors, observing them and their armaments with a look of quiet affection. He paused before one of them - a Shi'ar with a cutlass to one side of him and a flail to the other - and ran his hand along his feathered head while looking down on him adoringly. He then continued his journey along the line of "Petitioners" as they had been called, pausing occasionally to pat one on the shoulder or raise one's chin to assess his eyes. All the while, he was as serene as a winter snow.

"You will all serve me well," he purred when he had completed his circuit. "May victory find you before the hand of Death." With this declaration, the robed creatures all rose back to their feet and filed out just as mechanically as they had when they had approached the throne.

 _Odd,_ Thor pondered. _These beings seemed to be going willingly into the arena, as if it were a privilege or an opportunity to prove their battle prowess._ What was it that Angmo had told him? 'A Combatant would either be here to fight for his life against his will or for the riches promised to him by a wealthy benefactor.' When the last of the robed men had left the chamber, all that remained were the warriors in chains and their minders. They were a much less graceful or practiced lot, a group of alien beings who were mostly muscular, although a few lean and presumably lithe specimens could be seen. It was probably no coincidence that so many different races were represented by their number, and they all looked restless, fierce - and probably well accustomed to what was about to happen.

The avian creatures proceeded to guide Thor through a series of halls and into the main floor of the arena. Although he was sluggish due to the sedative from the previous day and stinging in various places from the multiple shocks he had received, the Asgardian was still able to be led into the arena without stumbling. Here there was a plain of tawny ground that fanned out before him until he could barely see where it finished on the opposite end. Around him, his fellow Combatants were being positioned in various places around the ring, but there was no trace of the so-called 'Petitioners'. Thor swept his eyes hurriedly over the landscape, trying to size up his situation and determine what parts of his surroundings would be to his advantage. There were numerous spectators seated above the main arena whose talking translated into a hum that he could detect but to which he gave no heed. They were of no concern to him until this was over.

 _Where were the weapons for the Combatants?_ The Petitioners certainly had been armed quite heavily. As if in answer to his question, he heard the turning of some apparatus under the floor near the center of the ring. A platform was raising from somewhere below, and upon it lay a heap of various armaments, some too large for Thor to make proper use of, and all of them aged and poorly kept. There were even a few pieces of armor in the mix, which might be just as valuable as weaponry among so many adversaries.

For a brief moment, Thor reflected on the ludicrous nature of this entire predicament, but his mind returned swiftly to the reality that his life was about to be in grave danger.

Another horrible roar came from the other end of the stadium, and this noise drew the Aesir's attention. There was a gargantuan creature being held there, chained to a pillar at its ankles, elbows, midsection, and throat. In addition, three guards- who were mammoth in their own right - held poles with loops of metal around his neck, attempting to keep their ward from slipping his bonds until the right moment revealed itself. However, the most distressing feature that this leviathan possessed was his skin. His vividly _green_ skin.

Thor's heart fell for more reasons than one.

Other sounds began to fade in: the turning mechanisms of platforms similar to that which had been in the center of the ring, only this time the noises emanated from within the walls of the arena. From several compartments around the ring, the Petitioners were being lowered onto the battleground, their beautifully gilded and shining weapons at the ready.

 _This was going to be a massacre._

Thor felt his escorts begin to handle the manacles at his wrists and ankles, and his restraints fell away. They were unlocking him, he realized. Therefore, once the band around his neck was released, it was going to be every man for himself. His first priority was obviously survival, since there could be no rescue attempt if he did not live through the battle. His secondary goal was more tricky: to reach the Hulk and somehow try to revert him to the humble mortal that he had known back on Midgard. However, when the Hulk was infuriated, he had almost no ability to rationalize the difference between friend and foe, even in the best of circumstances. Best to focus on step one for the time being.

Just as the fetter around his throat dropped, a dreadful, loud blast echoed through the arena, its spectators, and anyone unfortunate enough to be on the ground. Doubtless, this was the starting signal, and Thor began to sprint toward the array of armaments with all the spirit he had left within him. There were other Combatants who were able to reach it before him due to their races' superior strength or size, and each of them quickly grabbed an item or two from the pile and then fanned out, their backs to the center of the ring. The Petitioners were nearly upon them, and it only made sense to face the most imminent and plausible threat at that moment. Somewhere further toward the opposite end of the field, he could sense the undeniable thumps and vibrations of the Hulk striking the walls and then landing heavily upon the ground. Thor swiftly sifted through the supplies before him, managing to secure himself a long spear for his dominant hand and a round, wooden shield for the other. Not the combination he had hoped for, but there was hardly time to lament it.

Thor swung around to face the nearest Petitioner, a young Centaurian with a red crest like a flame atop his cerulean body. The Aesir pivoted just in time to stop the blow that was intended for him by using the shield. Mercifully, the wood was sturdier than it seemed, and the strike from two-handed cudgel glanced off of it. Thor then was able to answer the challenge with a swing from the tip of his spear. The Centaurian quickly folded himself and retracted his midsection to miss the slash, though he was not entirely successful. The point managed to slice a thin fissure through his leather armor, and a minimal trail of blood oozed from beneath it.

This early wounding seemed to enrage the creature, and his crest stood up more stiffly in his anger. He came at Thor with more force, and the next few minutes were a flurry of hits, deflections, slashes, and stabs that came at dizzying speed. Finally, Thor landed another strike upon his assailant's heavily armored shoulder, which did no actual damage but did cause the other man to land heavily upon his backside in the dirt. This humiliation further fueled the blue man's rage - and his temper caused him to make a careless mistake. He leapt to his feet and charged the Asgardian, only to be met with the calm patience of a more experienced warrior. A poorly-calculated blow left the Centaurian's abdomen vulnerable, and he crumpled from the answering thrust of the blonde man's spear.

Thor was uncertain if the resulting wound was enough to be fatal, but there was no time to consider it. All around him were the grunts, thumps, and clangs of fierce, close-range combat, and no one had yet noticed that he was without an opponent. This gave him just enough time to look around for his friend, but this moment of respite was broken as an arrow whistled past him on the right. The shot was slightly wide, but it still managed to graze the flesh of his bicep. He raised his shield to protect himself from the direction where the arrow had originated, and his haste was rewarded when he saw the silver head of another projectile pierce through the wood, closely followed by a second. He praised himself on having chosen a defensive item over a second weapon, but his self-congratulatory thinking was interrupted by yet another arrow whistling through the air very near his exposed legs. He shifted to wishing that he had picked something with more overall body coverage.

A third shaft protruded through the shield, sticking very near where the others had before it. Thor realized with apprehension that the pattern of these shots was deliberate: they were close enough to one another that the material between them would be weakened. In all probability, one more shot would likely cause the wood to collapse, leaving a gaping hole through his only defense. He tried to peek carefully around the edge of the shield in order to set eyes upon his attacker, but he could not risk exposing himself enough to make it worthwhile. What he _could_ see from his position was the pile of armour and weapons, which had only been about half-plundered by that time.

The decision was instantaneous since he knew the killing blow was likely to fall at any second. Thor abandoned the shield and rolled quickly to his right. He could hear the arrow that had been meant for him strike the dirt well past where he would have been as it no longer had a target with which to connect. While he spun over to the weaponry, he heard two more volleys hit where he had been just a heartbeat before. Once at the pile, he threw aside a few small swords with impossible speed, and then rotated back to the danger area once he laid his hands on the piece he desired. An instant later, and he would have taken the arrow that bounced off his new shield right in the middle of his back. This object was longer than its predecessor and made of a very dense metal. The durability of the material also made it significantly heavier, but Thor had more than enough upper body strength to wield it effectively.

He swapped out the ungainly spear for a long-bladed sword, a weapon with which he was far more practiced. Between the shots that he could hear being deflected off of the metal, he managed to survey the edges of the arena. Off to his left, he could hear the roar of the Hulk as he faced almost a dozen enemies. To his right, he was finally able to discern where his opponent was hiding. His assailant was a tall, lithe Shi'ar woman with a modified longbow who was hanging inverted, her long, curved claws digging into the mesh that protected the audience from the proceedings below. He sought the heap at his back for any distance weapons that he might use to bring her down, but there were none. However, the issue became irrelevant as a huge, green juggernaut launched himself at this same wall, after having bested his recent opponents rather handily. Thor watched with relief (and a little disgust) as the archer met a crushing death between the fingers of his former companion, a terrified shriek signifying her ghastly end. The Hulk then deftly leapt to the other end of the arena.

Thor was now aware of the cheers and shouts of the crowd above him. From the deafening resonance, there must have been hundreds of onlookers, and they were being whipped into a frenzy by the horrific exploits of the Hulk. Seeing no other immediate threats in his vicinity, the Asgardian willed the burning muscles in his legs to steer him toward where he had seen the former Dr. Banner disappear. However, he had managed no more than thirty steps before he was accosted by a large, humanoid creature with a messy shock of black hair emanating from his head and both of his jowls. Its teeth were exposed in abject rage, and it was wielding a warhammer that Thor would have given most anything to have been holding at that moment. The ruddy, raw patches around his wrists and neck showed that he was one of the Combatants, and so Thor was not immediately certain why he was being attacked. He had assumed that it was the prisoners versus the mercenaries within the arena, but he was now having second thoughts about this analysis.

This challenger was a Baluurian. He was not as tall as Thor, but he was more than equally as muscled, with a protruding jaw and a pair of fangs that gave him an almost canine appearance. In most other respects he was humanoid, although Thor knew that his enemy did have one attribute an Asgardian could not easily match. As the two of them clashed, Thor felt every strike of the hammer on his shield reverberating through the bones of his arm and shoulder. He was strong, that much was certain, but when the Aesir ducked a blow in order to land one of his own on his adversary, the Baluurian held up the hand on his unarmed side, and the blonde man was thrown back, landing a fair distance from his opponent.

'Kinetic force', Loki had called it. His brother had even used it on him a few times when he was testing his powers. The luck in this, of course, was that Thor knew how to counter it, and Baluurians had no other innate weapons beyond it. Keeping the shield between himself and the enemy, he left no part of his body exposed while he charged at the fanged creature, careful to hold the shield in such a manner that his limbs were not visible. An opposing force was required to wield this power, and the impetus had to be drawn from the being upon which it was focused. A sheet of metal did not possess the elemental energy to push back.

Thor crashed fiercely into the midsection of the Baluurian, who then tried to connect with the Asgardian's body by swinging the hammer wildly as they both fell to the dirt. Fortunately, Thor rolled off his attacker before this could happen and then immediately laid the tip of his sword at the creature's throat. As a precaution he also shored up one side of his exposed flesh with the shield.

"I do not know if you can understand me," the Aesir panted. "But I am only here to help my friend. I have no desire to hurt you. "

"You are not the one who decides," the Baluurian growled. "Do it, Yellow Hair. Give me a warrior's death."

"That is not my way," Thor said. "I do not kill the defenseless. I am going to withdraw my sword and depart for the other end of the arena. You would be wise not to follow -"

Before he could even finish the thought, a silver-shafted arrow struck the Baluurian in the throat. It was not of the same type that he had been targeted by earlier, as this arrow was of a fine metal, and the amount that could be smelted from it would buy a week's worth of bread and ale at the finest inn in Gundershelm. The shot had originated from his left, where there was a large seating area draped with fine fabrics. There were but a few occupants, and it was obvious from their appearance and demeanor that they were quite wealthy compared to the citizens he had passed in Capitol City. One of the occupants of this exclusive area was laughing - a female, probably, from the general shape, her long, white neck exposed as she howled at the scene unfolding before her. Next to her was a man of the same pallor and build holding a crossbow in his hands. He was smiling down on Thor as if he had done something extraordinarily amusing rather than having taken the life of a being whom he had not even had to face. Beside this assassin, his legs crossed demurely and placid as ice on a virgin pond, sat the unflinching form of the Grandmaster, and his garnet eyes were focused coolly upon Thor.

The bellowing of the Hulk shook him from his angry stupor. Initially, the Asgardian attempted to make his way over to where the sound had arisen. He was dripping perspiration and hobbled slightly by the ache of exertion in his muscles (which he could feel more acutely as his adrenaline subsided), but he managed to cover about a third of the necessary ground before he heard the loud blare of the signal again. He could see Banner, still fully in his giant, green persona, being wrestled to the ground by the same enormous wardens who had been holding him before the start of the contest. The battle was over for now, and Thor still had not been able to make contact with his companion. He had to make another attempt before they were separated again, but just as he was within shouting distance of the beast, he felt a netlike material winding around his ankles, pulling him helplessly toward the nearest opening in the walls of arena. He thrashed and swore as he was dragged further and further from his target. Somewhere along the way, he was incapacitated with another shock from an unseen apparatus, and he dropped his sword involuntarily before being forced out of the arena by persons unseen.

"Well done, blondie!" said the voice of the jailer from somewhere above him. "You managed to survive your first day. You should be pleased, since almost half of your fellow Combatants were not so lucky." This fact did not seem to deaden his mood in the least. However, there was definitely a malicious pleasure to his next words: "Funny, though - neither were _any_ of the Petitioners."

This large creature's satisfied laughter was the last thing Thor remembered before the world faded out once again.

11


	15. Part 3: Ch 4

~~Chapter 4~~

Dark, Marvelous, and Inscrutable

The first time I met Hela was at the Nornkeep.

It occurred at a time when I had nearly completed my apprenticeship under Karnilla, and I could sense an urgency from her to have me gone as soon as possible. I thought, perhaps, that she feared how rapidly I had advanced, and she now saw me as a threat to her. She need not have worried. Even if I cared one iota about having a creepy fortress full of demon sentries all to myself, I would not have attempted to take hers. Our tastes in interior design are diametrically opposed, and the corridor that houses the main bedchamber has a perpetual draft. I could certainly do better by designing one myself, if the spirit so moved me. Plus, as soon as Hela glided through its halls it was probably cursed for all eternity.

It had long been my theory that the demonic protectors of the Nornkeep were a gift from the Goddess of the Underworld herself, since how else does one obtain a legion of devils? No one would be fool enough to steal them or try to cheat her out of them (except Mephisto, perhaps, but he comes along a bit further down the page). It was telling then that, although she had come alone, Karnilla was wary around her. Hela smiled at the sorceress with a grin that I can only describe as 'sweetly homicidal,' and she called Karnilla 'my dear' so many times that I felt my tutor was beginning to find it patronizing, Yet she managed to handle herself with almost perfect civility in spite of the probable insult.

I never knew the purpose of that particular visit because the two of them spoke both with their backs to me and at a distance. However, I was able to ascertain two things from Karnilla's demeanor during their exchange: first, that she did not have any particular affection for Hela beyond that of a business partner born of an uncomfortable obligation, and, second, that the sorceress had no intention of introducing me to the other woman and would actually prefer that I stayed as inconspicuous as possible.

Speaking of me, I was reclining upon a high-backed chair in a shadowed corner of the main hall, enjoying an exquisitely detailed volume of Vanirian folktales. (If you have never read any, I absolutely recommend them. They are delightfully ribald.) By this time in my life, I had met very few prominent members of society, and nearly all of them had been from Asgard or its surrounding provinces. I was not entirely certain that I wanted to meet this eerie woman, either, but the opportunity was too tempting I pass up. So I clapped shut the book I was reading with such force that the noise was unequivocal.

Hela spun her head towards me instantly, her glare irritable at first but then softening back into 'sweetly homicidal.' Now that this look was fixed entirely upon me, I was not so certain that I wanted her attention, after all. Karnilla continued to speak in order to hold the other woman's focus, but, for Hela, there was no longer anyone else in the room with whom she wanted to speak. Her gaze was now entirely upon me, and I was completely unsure what I was going to do from this moment forward. After all, I had hoped to be introduced, not devoured. Thus, Hela ignored Karnilla completely and began to come toward me.

Curse my damned, impish curiosity.

I was struck by the way in which she moved, effortless and unhurried, as if she had all eternity to finish her journey (which, of course, she did). Everything else about her, however, was restrained and severe. She was covered head to toe in black garments except for the slight fluorescence of her cloak and the deep green of the cowl that was stretched tightly around her unadorned face, which was smooth and completely devoid of distinguishing features save for the slight fullness of her lips. Upon her head sat a crown-like headpiece, extending outwards a bit to either side due to a loose arrangement of what looked like tree limbs from a distance but which more resembled the legs of a spider as she approached. It was less ostentatious than the one Karnilla wore when she received her guests but much more disturbing in its design.

I should have stood for my introduction, but I could not even entertain the notion of raising myself before her. Surely, this was a woman before whom one would kneel, though it would be more out of fear than respect. "Hello, my little interloper," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "I do not believe that we have met." She spoke back over her shoulder without fully turning her head, her eyes still trained upon me like a predator on its prey. "Karnilla - why have we not been introduced?"

Karnilla was obligated to approach now in order to give her reply. "Do forgive my rudeness, Hela," she said through slightly exposed teeth. "There must have been an oversight on my part." The look I was getting as she drew near was one of sheer aggravation.

"Then rectify it, my dear," the goddess hummed. By now she was close enough that I could have reached out an arm and touched her. Not that I would have ever dared.

"This is Loki: son of Odin and Prince of Asgard."

Hela folded her arms and stared down at me, as I had still not conjured the nerve to rise. I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of delight in her cold, black eyes when she learned my name, but her smile remained minimal. "Loki - such an interesting name. 'Born of Fire,' I believe it means in the old Asgardian tongue."

"'Bringer of Fire' is a closer translation," I said.

Karnilla looked horrified at my correction of Hela, and I could tell that she was fully expecting me to be vaporized on the spot. However, the lady herself looked only amused. "Hmmm," she replied as she turned over my answer in her head. "You are the younger prince, are you not? The one who is gifted?"

Among wielders of magic, 'gifted' had only one interpretation. "Intrinsic, yes."

"It is captivating to meet you, Loki _Odinson._ " She stressed my surname as if it held more meaning for her than any other aspect of my being. She extended a hand for me to take, and, as I did so, I felt her long, black nails scrape lightly across my palm, her skin slightly cool and eerily soft. I was unsure if I should kiss her hand or shake it, but the issue was extinguished when she closed it around my own and pulled me firmly to my feet. I could now see that I was half a head taller than her, and yet I felt like a child being scrutinized by one of his elders.

She allowed my hand to slide from her grip. "It must be happy coincidence that you and I have chosen this same evening to visit dear Karnilla. Tell me, are you planning to stay long?" Her tone was growing sinister, but the ire was not directed at me. "I know you could not have been here for any greater length of time, for I know that she would have told me about you long before now."

Actually, I had been there nearly a full five years at that point, but I did not offer up that bit of information. Karnilla's complexion had deepened into a startling shade of scarlet, but she also provided no response.

Hela's eyes drifted over me, lingering on nothing but my eyes. "You are just as handsome as they say you are," she said. Her ominous smile turned up more severely at the edges. "I hope that you are also as willful as I have heard. I seem to remember being told that you are skilled at creating trouble for your father and brother." Then, in a whisper meant only for me, she added, "No wonder Karnilla has not introduced us."

I was beginning to find my confidence now, and I calmly replied that I had indeed been known to generate some mischief from time to time. This answer was well-received. "Well, I hope that in the future, we might be able to work together in some manner. Do not hesitate to call upon me. There is always room for one more in Hel," she murmured. As she said this, her irises flashed with a fleeting green spark.

***.**.***

It was not long after this encounter that Karnilla transitioned from suggesting that I return to Asgard to insisting upon it. She claimed that I had grown sufficiently in my skill that I longer needed her guidance, but I suspect it was more of a ploy to insulate me from the Queen of the Underworld. She need not have bothered, really. I did not need a Norn to tell me that I was fated to end up on Hela's doorstep eventually, although that would not actually occur for another century or so. You see, I have always had a tendency to gravitate toward self-destruction.

I was in a far different place when I first visited Hel as opposed to when I had first met its ruler. I now possessed a boldness that I had not had then, and my powers had been honed by such intense practice that they felt like an inherent part of me. Most of Asgard probably feared me by then, not just because of my power but also my charm. In fact, I was able to compel most adversaries into doing what I wanted without any threatening words or actions whatsoever. And of course, everyone dreaded what I might be thinking at any one moment, as I was likely clever enough to carry it out. I was at that stage in life when one feels absolutely fearless and invulnerable.

(I still feel fearless now but for different reasons. I am no longer foolish enough to think that I am invulnerable.)

I cannot recall what I was planning to accomplish by my visit, only that I had been bored beyond endurance. Routine was boring, and my life had become a virtual cesspool of it. Plus, everyone I knew had grown so familiar to me that I could no longer bear the sameness of them, their monotonous gestures and their repetitive words. There was something in me that needed the thrill of risk - up to and including the life-threatening kind- to the extent that I was willing to do almost anything merely to quiet the incessant noises in my head.

I had to haggle with the two guards for several minutes before they even began to take me seriously. Evidently, Asgard's royalty had not been well known within the walls of Hel before my arrival, but I finally convinced one of them to at least go and inform his Mistress that I had called.

He returned with a sour expression. "Lady Hela would like to see you."

"Of course she would," I said as I pushed past them, taking off down the tunnel as if I had any clue as to where I was going from there.

In the years since my training with Karnilla, I had determined that the way one makes an entrance is crucial to how one is perceived by new acquaintances - walk boldly and with a purpose, covering as much ground as possible before others can figure out what it is you may have done or might be planning to do. Bravado alone has often gotten me a seat at a table full of powerful enemies, and I used it now to its fullest effect. (This manner of walking also serves an aesthetic purpose, because it causes the tails of my leather overcoat to ripple behind me in the resulting breeze, an effect which is further emphasized if my hair happens to be long enough to wave with it as well. I like to think that it makes me look intimidating or important at the very least. Plus, it just feels liberating.)

I could hear the vague sound of voices from down a long, darkened corridor to my left, and the room from which it emanated was glowing with ambient light. I made my way toward it with long, sure strides.

One of the guards was close at my heels, his demands to show me to the audience chamber growing louder and more amusing as I stripped him of the pleasure of doing so. I stopped briefly before entering merely to irritate him while I meticulously picked off each finger of my leather gloves.

"I seem to have found the place, thank you," I said, deflecting his final appeal to assist me.

When I looked up, I was met with the figure of Hela, who had stepped out to greet me. "Why, Loki Odinson," she said with no change in inflection. "It has been so long since our first meeting that I had come to think that you would never accept my offer."

"I presume it still stands." Oddly, I was far less intimidated by this woman than I had been before, and my words probably sounded quite bored and possibly arrogant. Appropriately so, for I was decisively both of those at that moment.

"Of course," she said. "I also happen to have other guests tonight that I am certain will be eager to make your acquaintance." Her manner of dress was less severe this time but only by a small degree. Her leggings and tunic were still a deep green (or black depending on the quality of the light), but over these she wore a fur-lined cape that greatly obscured her form. She still wore a crown of sorts, only this time it was a simple circlet of leather with what looked to be a line of iron spikes protruding upwards from the band. Her hair was back and tightly fastened at the nape of her neck, but you could see its was the deep, grey-black color of coal that has already been spent. Had her face not still been unemotional and masklike in its smoothness, she might have possessed some basic manner of beauty.

"Come, Loki," Hela continued. She took my hand, and I could feel the damnable scrape of those lacquered nails against my skin once again. As we entered the chamber, she transferred her grip from my hand to my upper arm, and the strength of it was surprising. Fortunately, the leather and metal of my armor protected me from the pointed ends of her fingers. "I have to warn you, my prince," she murmured as we approached the table where her guests were seated, "I have Mephisto as one my guests this evening."

I did not want to expose my naiveté, but my face surely betrayed my ignorance regarding the name. Hela chuckled darkly. "Oh, my darling boy," she breathed. "I have much to show you about the universes beyond your own . . . although meeting Mephisto may be a cruel place to start. Still, I know he will like you." Her voice turned darker yet. "Probably a little _**too**_ much."

As we neared the table where the others were seated, the guests rose from their seats in a gesture of respect, though I doubt any of them actually knew who I was. They were all sufficiently strange in their own right, but my eyes were immediately drawn to the tall, blood-red creature at the left of Hela's vacant seat - and his eyes were likewise locked on me. He smiled broadly, exposing a row of sharp teeth with two pointed canines descending from the upper jaw, and his eyes glowed with a sickly phosphorescence.

"Gentlemen," Lady Hela stated, her voice carrying supremely despite having not increased in volume, "May I present to you, Loki: son of Odin Allfather and Prince of the realm of Asgard."

The members of the gathering nodded and muttered their approval, and I suspect a couple of them even recognized my name now that it had been spoken to them. Yet, Mephisto - dear cunning, unsettling, Mephisto - continued to accost me with a look that dared me to a private conversation later that evening. It also radiated sheer, uninhibited _want,_ because, from the moment I had entered the room, he had begun to form machinations regarding the possession of my soul.

I silently prayed it was that and nothing else.

Hela began to introduce me around the table, but Mephisto interrupted her without apology. "It is an absolute pleasure, your Highness. Would you care for a drink?" He wiggled the stem of the goblet he held between two of his fingers, causing his prominent, claw-like nails to tap rhythmically against the glass.

The man at Mephisto's right - a wild-looking fellow with a shock of mussed ebony hair - stood and reached for my hand. "Nightmare," he declared with a feral grin. I shook the hand he extended, albeit grudgingly. It was unnaturally cold. "And the first rule you should know about being in any of the Underworlds is that you should _never_ accept a drink from the likes of this one." He gestured his thumb toward the demon at his elbow.

"Mephisto," the being in question stated, also extending his hand, which was so large that it engulfed my own. "And don't listen to Nightmare. He's just trying to ruin the fun." His grin was just as savage as his companion's but not nearly as unhinged, and his luminous eyes crackled with both an unsettling acumen and a wisdom born of long ages of self-indulgent amusement.

Hela had taken her deserved place at the head of the table, settling herself nonchalantly. "Nightmare is quite correct," she said as she arranged the folds of her robe. "There are many cultures throughout the universe that describe a tormentor of the dead, and his guise is often the same: a red, horned demon with a wicked smile and a blackened soul. Every one of them has our dear Mephisto to thank for its inspiration."

"Midgard has been particularly receptive to my influence," the demon boasted.

"There are several legends that each of these fiends have in common," the goddess continued. "One of the most prevalent warns against accepting a drink from the Devil. If you assent to his offer, he owns your soul for all eternity."

It was at this moment that I began to rethink my desire to meet interesting people.

On the other hand, earning the respect of such influential beings could be quite useful in the future. "Well, then," I replied, sweeping the tails of my coat out behind me and taking the only unoccupied seat. "What do the legends say about accepting a drink from _**you**_?" I glanced over at Nightmare, and he met my gaze reluctantly. When he did not respond immediately to my thinly-veiled request, I raised an eyebrow and exaggerated my glare.

Nightmare sighed and then rose to retrieve my drink. When he returned, I swirled the ruby liquid around the chalice and then raised it to my new companions. "Your hospitality is humbly accepted." I took a long, slow sip from its contents, ensuring that every eye would be trained on me for several moments. Mephisto, of course, was the most enthralled. I noticed that he licked his lips subconsciously as I drained the contents of my glass, as if he imagined that he were ingesting the liquid in my stead.

"A marvelous vintage," I commented - and it really was. "I am eager for another."

Nightmare was just beginning to rearrange his cloak and settle back into his seat when I took the stem of the glass between my first and second fingers and pushed it pointedly across the surface of the table. It drifted to a stop against his elbow. I waited for him to look up at me again and then flashed him a wicked grin.

"Would you be so kind?" I taunted, and I crooked the same eyebrow as before in admonition.

Nightmare's sigh was even more pronounced than before as he stalked off to fetch me another serving. Mephisto, on the other hand, stared at me as if I were the most coveted prize in all the Nine Realms.

***.**.***

Several drinks and a great deal of eccentric conversation later, Hela steered me into an adjoining room. "You should not toy with him like that," she reprimanded me.

"With whom?" I replied. I could feel the liquor warm in my veins, coupling with the intoxication my own accomplishments. I had told many a tale that evening that had been met with approving peals of laughter, and I was swimming with pride. Unfortunately, I was also listing from actual inebriation.

"You know quite well _whom_ ," she scolded, swiping the half-full goblet of wine from my hand. She downed the remainder herself, although she had not touched a drop so far that evening. "Mephisto is not someone with whom you trifle. He is powerful, Loki - more so than you seem to acknowledge. He has a penchant for collecting the souls of the mightiest and most fascinating beings in the universe, and he is not above taking advantage of an opportunity to possess the spirit of the son of the Allfather, should it present itself. I warned you that he would probably be drawn to you. There was no need to encourage him further."

My inhibitions had dwindled greatly by this point, and I laughed more loudly than I had intended. "I am only trying to find allies, my Lady. It is not my intention to hold his attention for longer than is necessary."

Her hand landed heavily upon my cheek, snapping me halfway back to sobriety from the sheer force of it. "Foolish, idiotic boy!" she spat. "If he sets his eye upon you, he will follow you to the ends of the universe! You will have no peace until he drags you back with him to his domain, should he will it."

I rubbed the sting from my cheek while she ranted, but I was unconvinced by the threats she presented. "I can handle Mephisto," I said flatly. The force of her smack was only adding to the reeling in my head. "He may be powerful, but he has obvious vulnerabilities, all of which I intend to exploit. I will not fall to him because I do not fear him." As my wine had been appropriated by the same angry woman I was still facing, I began to scrutinize the areas over both shoulders for a suitable replacement. I crossed over to a nearby decanter of - well, _something_ anddowned a glass of the liquid within. It was far stronger than the wine in which I had been indulging for hours, and it burned mercilessly as it travelled down my throat.

"Then you are mad," Hela retorted.

"Possibly," I chuckled through the burning of my insides. "But it is my intention to best the most fearsome beings in the universe before I am through." I tried to rest my arm on the back of a nearby chair, but it slipped out from under me.

It began to occur to me that I might be getting more than just a _little_ intoxicated.

"Then you are _truly_ mad," she said, although I could sense the slightest hint of admiration in her smile. "I must say that I approve of your grand aspirations. I think you might have both the intellect and the instinct to be successful on a universal scale. Just not with that one." She gestured dismissively back toward the room that contained Mephisto.

"Is that a note of jealousy that I detect?" I asked. My tongue felt a little too large for my mouth and my consonants were a little too rounded. "You want to have me all to yourself, don't you?" I truly must have imbibed far more than I had intended to be having such words with the Goddess of the Dead.

To my surprise, however, her eyes glinted in response to my words. "Oh, Loki," she purred. "You have absolutely no idea what it is I want from you."


	16. Part 4: Prologue

~~Part IV~~

Three times I had the lust to kill,

To clutch a throat so young and fair,

And squeeze with all my might until

No breath of being lingered there.

Three times I drove the demon out,

Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .

And yet I know beyond a doubt

He'll get me yet, he'll get me yet.

- _A Hero (Excerpt)_ by Robert William Service

 _A thousand years is a long time to harbor a secret. My soul should have been made heavy from bearing the weight of my destiny - and yet it was not so. I did not feel any less favored or any more cursed than any other Asgardian so far as I know. I presume this is true mostly because I never really believed in any of it. It was like following the threads of a mystery in which you have no direct part; I chased after the meaning of the visions, but I did so with no more expectation of experiencing any of the scenes foretold than I had of being told that I was a Jötun. A healthy dose of denial saw me through many pieces of my past, I suppose._

 _Sif has never been very fond of me, and I have been in no denial about that. For a number of centuries, we were both integral players in Thor's adventures, and we often fought by one another's side, even occasionally saving each other from harm. We were never close but nor were we adversaries. Over the years, I began to see the indications that her feelings toward Thor were becoming more than a companionable affection - and that he did not see her in the same manner. It was pitiful watching her vie for his attention, when he gave it so freely to me without any effort on my own part._

 _In my estimation, Sif was using the wrong strategy those many years, and her efforts were likewise doomed to failure from the start because she could not be what she was not. She trained relentlessly, becoming a stronger and more skilled warrior than I will every truly admit (on the few occasions we sparred, it was typically a draw), but her talents failed to attract Thor's eye. In war, she would guard his back almost to the detriment of her own, and she kept him from death or grievous wounding a number of times. What the fair Lady failed to see was that it was a hopeless venture: she was not his type and never would be. Soft and fragile women like Jane Foster were more to his liking, and a wit to match her beauty was entirely optional. A fierce, powerful woman with the heart of a soldier was just a glint on the periphery, really._

 _(Now that I am pondering what I have stated, I do feel genuine sympathy for the poor woman, but the truth cannot be what it is not anymore than she can.)_

 _One of the only quiet moments I remember Sif and I sharing came after a battle for one of Vanaheim's Northern provinces, which had found itself besieged by rogue elves from Alfheim. Our battalion had just endured a skirmish with a small party of enemy scouts, and our outriders were surveying the surrounding vales for the location of their remaining armies. The vanguard was taking respite under a grove of apple trees, using the lull to check over our armor and weapons for integrity. It was at once terrible and ethereal to be standing under the boughs of the low-hanging trees while wiping blood from our swords and armor, the silvery blooms drifting around us like snow._

 _Thor had been pulled into a game of dice by Fandral, and Volstagg and Hogun were placing wagers and watching intently. That left Sif and I to tend to the horses, and after our chore was finished, we stretched out in the shade by a cold, clear brook and awaited our orders. After a few moments, while Sif picked at the blossoms around her and let some of them take to the wind, she turned to me. "What do you imagine it would be like to be King?" she inquired. Her face was unassuming._

 _I had actually given this far more thought than I was ever going to offer her. "I imagine it would be very busy at times, very boring at other times. There would be many difficult decisions and a host of sleepless nights."_

 _"Do you think Thor would be a favored king?" Now her lips were curled in a taunting but genial grin._

 _"I think he would be loved by many. Until the day-to-day business of the Realm fell completely apart, that is."_

 _We both chuckled briefly at the thought of my brother dealing with the entreaties of citizens and the burdens of diplomacy. I think in those days Sif was still undecided about whether my brash and untested sibling would be a worthy king; however, I am almost certain that she did not consider me an appealing alternative. She took a handful of petals and began to absently line her scabbard with them._

" _Do you think you would be a favored king?"_

" _No," I admitted without hesitation. "I think I would be generally disliked. Although, I do not believe that the Allfather holds the admiration of his people in most circumstances. Popularity is not a prerequisite for being a successful ruler." I scanned the horizon for any signs of the returning patrol, but there were none. "I believe that if a sovereign does not anger others with some frequency that he is likely doing a rather poor job."_

" _Truly?" Sif was amused but not entirely convinced that I was being forthright._

" _Absolutely. In many ways, I imagine it is like being a parent. Telling your wards what they must do for their own good does not exactly make the people sing your praises."_

 _"I wonder what it would be like to be queen," she replied absently._

 _Now it was my turn to goad her. "Are you implying that you would like to marry me, Lady Sif? I am flattered that you are so eager, but I would prefer not to be tied down until after I assume the throne."_

 _"I think it is only_ _ **yourself**_ _that flatters you," she said, crooking an eyebrow with disdain._

 _"Oh, of course!" I ribbed her. "You would rather be wed to a more_ _ **beloved k**_ _ing. How could I have been so foolish! It is just unfortunate that he prefers his games over you."_

 _The woman grasped the nearest handful of apple blossoms and threw them squarely in my face. A fair amount of dirt and grass came along with the petals, and I immediately started trying to clear my mouth of the debris._

 _"Why do you have to be so cruel, Loki? I mean you just . . . just . . . "_

 _I was still spluttering like a fool and waiting for her to cuff the side of my head when I realized that she had transitioned from anger to laughter. Her hand came up to cover her mouth and stifle her mirth, but she continued to chuckle in spite of her resistance. "You just . . . look adorable!"_

 _"What?" I huffed, angrily brushing the stems and florets from my armor._

 _She reached behind her for her shield and then spun it so the polished metal of the inner side was facing me. Within its form I could see the reflection of my face and hair, and it was plain to me why she was laughing: the ivory blossoms had fallen into a near perfect circlet around my head, the delicacy of their coloring standing out in stark relief against the darkness of my hair._

 _"I think it is_ _ **you**_ _who should be queen, Loki!" She could no longer restrain herself, and her remaining glee came out in peals and coughs._

 _"So you would wish upon Asgard so cruel a queen?" I cocked my head and attempted a regal profile._

 _She grasped a small twig to which a few white blossoms still clung and tucked it gently behind my ear. "You would certainly be among the fairest," she chuckled. It was certainly intended as a tease, but I chose to take it as some manner of compliment anyway. I shook off as many of the petals as I could and then combed my hand back through my hair to loosen those that remained. We shared a small smile - one of the few moments of true camaraderie between us - and then the clear sound of a horn pierced the air followed by the thunder of approaching hoofbeats._

 _Five of our scouts had crested the ridge at full gallop, the remainder of the Elven army close at their heels._


	17. Part 4: Ch 1

~~Chapter 1~~

Mighty Trees Go Down to Ruin

I had not come all this way to be denied. It was humiliating enough that I had to be carried back, concealed within the grip of a creature with whom I had barely conversed in a century. I was further demeaned by having to come to a shouting-level argument with her on the outskirts of Asgard because she had "had second thoughts" and was refusing to allow me to cross the border. Valkyrie had also reminded me (very unkindly) that my not-Father would order my execution for defying my banishment, at which I laughed. Then she dared to try to physically restrain me when I attempted to enter Asgard in spite of her warning, at which I laughed again but more forcefully. Eventually, I was required to conceal myself behind a conjured shadow and slip over the boundary while she aimed her most convincing argument at a very obstinate illusion.

The cry she unleashed when she found that she had been deceived echoed off every wall in the province.

In keeping with my string of recent fortune (or rather lack thereof), the damnable storm decided to swell again just as I was within sight of the lights of the city. There was no doubt now that Valkyrie would be waiting for me when I reached Valaskjalf, because, although the bone-chilling cold was less of an issue for me than most of the other inhabitants of these parts, the matter of visibility was still very much a problem. It took me far longer than I had hoped, and that had been enough additional time for Brunnhilde to fill the ramparts of the palace with a whole host of her kin, who were no doubt watching exclusively for my arrival. Fortunately, I had more than enough strength left to shield myself from their vision. I also knew many clandestine ways of entering the palace, some of which were unknown even to the AllFather himself.

It was just a few hours before dawn when I finally entered the main halls of the structure. I slipped in via the same pathway through which I had allowed the Jötuns access to the weapons vault, since it was by far the most remote and least visible of those that led into the palace. The entry was standing open of its own accord, just I had anticipated, but it was now unable to be closed for more than a few minutes at a time despite the strength of my powers. This fact was troublesome, as anyone could enter at any time; it was simply a matter of knowing _**precisely**_ where to look and how to recognize the entryway for what it was.

I trod lightly through the chamber and across the marble and glass inlay of its floor, taking stock of all the objects of power that had lain therein for as long as I could remember - well, save for the recent addition of the Tesseract. It had the gall to crackle minutely, just a trickle of a spark down one edge as I passed, as if to convey that it recognized me (that bitch). I charged ahead without giving it the satisfaction of even slowing me down.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs to the exit, I caught a glimpse of an empty pedestal on the left where - well, where _something_ used to be. It had been a while since I had actually given much thought to the array of weapons that Odin had collected, but I was able to come up with the name of the object during the few seconds it took me to ascend the stairs and shield my form from the guards at the doorway.

 _The Warlock's Eye._

 _Had it been gifted to someone?_ I wondered. _Gambled away, perhaps?_ Well, that was Odin's problem at this point. He was probably lucky that he had anything remaining in his collection at all, considering the hidden path that led into deep into the heart of the weapons vault was continuously open. I tried not to think what the consequences of that problem might actually be, particularly if any of those items fell into, let's say, some very large hands. Thanos was presumably still out there and still planning on carrying out his stomach-churning endgame. Plus, having both the Tesseract (infinity stone!) and myself (knows too much and usually cannot shut up!) in the same Realm was just asking for his unwanted attention.

I tried to push all of these worrisome thoughts to the back of my mind as I opened the inner door of the vault, shielding both myself and the sound it made from the sentries beyond. Auspiciously, there were a minimal number of Einherjar guarding the various chambers nearby and few other signs of life that I could detect. I slipped down the corridor toward my destination, the familiarity of everything around me threatening to make me pause. The stillness at this hour was daunting considering how much time I had before I confronted the AllFather - far, far too much time to repeatedly turn the consequences over in my head.

One of the first places that Odin would visit in the mornings was the King's Chamber, a cozy, den-like area off of the main throne room. It was the base from where he planned his entire day, and it was often filled with papers delineating the business that he would be conducting during the week. I had stolen into this room many times when I was still quite young and Odin was away, hoping to acquaint myself with the kinds of duties for which I might one day have to prepare. The sourness of that memory made me want to choke.

My plan was to conceal myself in the throne room and then confront Odin as soon as he arrived, accosting him with the facts at hand and making him see reason. He could not keep me in exile forever, no matter how much he enjoyed my absence, I would assert. In truth, I could enter Asgard anytime I liked in the form of an illusion and still see and hear everything that he wished to conceal from me. It was as fruitless as it was ridiculous. I would end on the knife-twisting point that Thor was still trying to bring me home - that Thor _needed_ me. I could only pray that Odin did not ask me why, because I honestly had no idea.

As I approached the main hall, my grand plan became derailed before it could even be set into motion. There were voices coming from the audience chamber - two, in fact - and one of them was unmistakably the AllFather's. The other was female, though softer so I could not immediately identify it. A few steps more and I could see that one of the heavy doors was slightly ajar, and, curiously, there were no Einherjar around to guard the entrance. I crept up to it as silently as I could and peered through the crack that remained.

"I respect your sense of urgency, but I simply cannot trouble myself with your problems at this moment. It is the middle of the night!" That sharp, stilted tone belonged unmistakably to Odin. "And I do not take kindly to being summoned to my own throne room in order to listen to supplications that can clearly wait until morning!"

"Forgive me, AllFather," the other voice replied smoothly. "It is just that with the passages to all the Realms remaining open, I find myself in a terribly vulnerable position." _Female - familiar_. _And oddly, she did not sound the least bit troubled._ "And it is not merely the matter of who might find their way in, but, in my case, who might find their way _out_. You do not want the streets of Asgard teeming with the undead, do you?" Ah, yes: the voice was Hela's. Unmistakably.

 _Well, damn._

"At this hour, my Lady, I frankly do not care who is wandering these streets!" Odin bellowed. "They can be dealt with in the morning!"

"But, AllFather!" she protested, her words dripping with mockery. "Who knows what manner of threat might be lurking within your borders at this very moment." I caught a glimpse of her dark form drifting across the floor, and I could spy just enough of her headdress to see that it was familiar also - like spider legs, only this time broader and more extravagant. "Here, let me _show you_." Hela's tone was anything but reassuring. She was up to something, and she was never up to anything that had a happy ending.

My mind began to race with possibilities: _What should I do? Do I make my presence known and attempt to distract her? Do I try to stop her? Could I stop her even if I tried?_ The answers to these questions were clear: nothing, no, no, and 'oh, _Hel_ no!' Whatever Hela was about to do, I was quite likely powerless to prevent it.

I saw the goddess draw out something from behind her back - something which must have materialized as it had not been there a second before. _The Warlock's Eye._ I recognized it instantly, and the shock almost made me cry out to Odin, warning him of the impending danger despite our recent mutual loss of affection. My jaw did open, but my throat was too dry to make a sound. She brought the object out and held it at the level of the AllFather's head, where it immediately began to throb with energy and a pale, yellow light that fell on the aged man's face. He stiffened, his arms dropping limply at his sides and his jaw falling as if to mirror my response.

"You see, AllFather, you could be leaving all sorts of powerful weapons unguarded," she cooed. Odin's faced remained vacant, his features flaccid. "Unfortunately for you, your formerly beloved son has shown me the way in to where yours are kept."

 _I had not!_

 _Had I?_

Surely she had not followed me this evening because she arrived before I had. _So,_ _when?_ Probably when I had smuggled in the Frost Giants, I realized. She simply had not had the opportunity to use the passageway as it had been protected by layers and layers of ancient magic, courtesy of my adopted ancestors. It had taken me years of research to untangle all of the spells. Now it was just as accessible as all the other portals in the Realms, and she had finally seen her chance.

I swear sometimes I cause the worst chaos without even trying.

"Too bad that you will not be able to reprimand him for his carelessness. As of now, you will remember nothing of your past, and you will not be conscious of who you used to be." The vacant look on Odin's face became somehow emptier as she spoke these words, as if he were a doll being held aloft by a single string tethered to the center of his back.

I was likewise rooted to the spot, seemingly as unable to move or speak as the AllFather was. There were likely two reasons that I had done nothing to interfere with what was occurring: the first was that I simply wanted to see how the whole scene would unfold, because I was not entirely sure that Hela had the strength to hinder Odin, even with the aid of the Warlock's Eye. This mystery had already been solved. The second was probably a mixture of my ego prodding me to witness the AllFather being overpowered and humiliated, blended with a tiny shred of my own fear. If Odin could be so easily reduced to a witless fool by her magic, then I was surely in danger of being reduced to one, as well.

"Now, AllFather," Hela continued in a coolly taunting manner. "What am I to do with the part of you that still remains?" She was circling him calmly, one finger tapping on her chin and her brow creased as if she were facing a most vexing conundrum. "Hmmm . . . the possibilities are all so very enticing." I could hear the soft brush of her cape against the stone floor as she moved, reminding me that I was very close to this evolving spectacle - so close, in fact, that she likely could have smelled me if she were not so preoccupied. She should be able to hear my unsteady breathing, at the very least.

"Oh, I know," she purred as she proceeded with her circuitous path around the motionless figure before her. "Since you are so fond of stranding your offspring on Midgard, perhaps I should allow you to experience that fate for yourself."

If my heart had not been pounding in my throat, I might actually have enjoyed watching what transpired. As it turned out, actually witnessing Hela opening a portal, forcing the ragdoll-like figure of such a proud, powerful man through it, and then dissolving the gateway into nothingness was far less satisfying than I had imagined. I lingered there for only a moment more, struck senseless by the gravity of what I had just witnessed. Yet I dared not let even another heartbeat go by before acting, because her focus was no longer on anything but the room before her, and she was going to realize that I had been there watching everything at any second.

There was only one course of action at this point: back away slowly and try not to be detected. I was not too proud to throw all thoughts of heroism to the wind and fall back on self-preservation - at least for the moment. Once I had stepped back from the doorway sufficiently enough that I was not likely to be visible (my magic would not help me here as Hela could see through any attempt to shield myself from her eyes), I turned back toward the Weapons Vault with a very specific task in mind: seal the entrance to the limit of my ability. If Hela thought that she was going to have unhindered access to Odin's toybox, she was woefully mistaken.

In truth, it took me far too long to weave the spells that would stymie Hela from accessing the Vault. They were not going to be as intricate or as strong as the original ones, but I had neither the time nor the composure to do more. The bonds would hold, at least for a while, since I had put as much of myself into them as I possibly could without causing lasting harm; however, the sheer effort that this feat had required left me severely drained, both mentally and physically. I could only hope that I was still alert enough not to get accosted by Hela, because my next stop was going to be my brother's chambers. They were located on the other side of the palace, and the number of turns involved in my journey was going to be taxing on my blurry, weakened brain. Still, I had to find him. There was no way that I could hold back the Goddess of Death (now with weapons!) on my own. Together, however, Thor and I had always been unstoppable.

 _But I was not his brother anymore, was I?_ That thought stung me as acutely as if I had taken a sword to the back. Not in the technical sense, anyway, because we shared no blood. Yet Thor was almost certainly still holding on to some vague idea that, though I was adopted, being raised as brothers made us kin. I mean, how many times do you have to try to kill someone before he takes the damned hint? (Well, I definitely was not going to pause to think about all the ways in which that statement was flawed, particularly since I was turning to him for aid when I had nowhere else to go). When I pivoted to make my exit, however, I was forced to halt regardless of my objections when I nearly collided with the largest Asgardian I had ever seen. He was larger than Heimdall or Volstagg- in fact, it hurt me to admit, he was even larger than my blonde mass of a brother. And he looked furious.

I was lost for words for about the dozenth time that day as I surveyed the man. He was indeed dressed in Asgardian armor, but he was no one that I recognized. His hairless head was framed by two dark lines that extended from his brow to somewhere beyond my line of sight, and he bore an absolutely enormous battle axe. During the time that I stood gawking, the stranger could very easily have relieved me of my head with his fearsome weapon, but he did not. Instead, his face broke out in a smile so malevolent that it made Mephisto's look downright welcoming. His sinister aspect was disturbing enough that I actually took a step backward, which may have been unprecedented.

"Um . . . hello," I managed to say. "I do not know you." This response was hardly eloquent, but I was too bewildered to care. I was feeling more and more depleted from my energy expenditure with every passing second and so I was also unlikely to be able to physically engage him with much skill, if it came to that. My best prospect was probably to try to talk my way out of this situation. "If you are of Asgard - and I am still technically its prince - may I at least beg the honor of knowing your name?"

"Skurge," the huge man replied. His voice was as deep as Thor's but rougher and more menacing. He took a step toward me. I took another step back.

"I have a friend I call 'Scourge.' Well, not really a friend so much as a fiendish, feathered tormentor." I was babbling, and I was aware of it. I just could not seem to help myself. "You _are_ from Asgard, then?"

"Used to be," he answered through that threatening grin. "Now I serve Hela."

 _Oh, sure. Why not?_

He began to raise his bladed weapons so that the aim of the sharp edge was level with my throat. I did not have enough strength remaining to fight him effectively - either physically or with my magic - but I was still going to try, even if the result looked positively absurd. I had endured too much in the recent past to die here without putting up any resistance. I reached for the dagger at my hip, knowing full well that I would not be able to raise it quickly enough to be of any use, and braced for the inevitable strike from Skurge's blade.

Before the lethal blow could fall, the silver point of a sword emerged through my assailant's left shoulder. He howled in pain, spinning to face whoever had attacked him with a formidable growl. The blade of his axe fell onto the metal of a shield as he suffered another blow from his opponent's sword, this time grazing his right side. When he pivoted to dodge the hit, I had a clear view of the Lady Sif, who had obviously been awakened from her slumber. She was dressed plainly in black tights and a tunic and had not been granted the time to don her armor, which put her in even more peril from the swings of her enemy. She gracefully ducked and dodged Skurge's powerful blows, but she was unable to land any more hits herself now that the formidable warrior was aware of her presence. In fact, he was adapting to her manner of fighting and steadily gaining ground.

In order to aid her, I positioned myself behind the man and plunged my dagger firmly into the point where his neck met his shoulder. It was meant to land higher up, closer to the large vessels near his throat, but all of the movement along with my impairment caused my stroke to land sloppily. He reeled toward me before I could retract it, and I had to drop immediately to the floor in order to preserve the placement of my head, feeling the wind from his strike on my face as it passed. I was just breathing a sigh of relief when I took the force of his boot fully against my ribcage. I crumpled in my exhausted state, and Skurge took the opportunity to land a second blow across the line of my jaw, sending me flailing backwards. I landed awkwardly on the same side on which I had been kicked, sending a jolt of pain through my torso. Thankfully, not only did Sif resume her offensive against him just as he moved forward, but the Warriors Three -who had apparently been delayed by taking the time to fully dress in their armor - emerged with weapons at the ready.

For once, I was genuinely pleased to see them.

Seeing the battle already in progress, the trio plunged into the fray, distracting Skurge long enough that Sif could bow out. To my utter shock, she came over to me and offered her hand. To my further amazement, I accepted it. She pulled me to my feet and surveyed me with a scowl, and then her brow arched with curiosity as she watched me sway unsteadily. I had to brace myself against a bench to prevent myself from dropping helplessly at her feet.

Meanwhile, Skurge was expertly parrying the strikes of his opponents without displaying any unusual exertion whatsoever. He carried no shield, but his superbly crafted mail repelled all but the most deftly placed blows. Those few wounds he did suffer were superficial, and he paid no mind to them as he continued his onslaught. Fandral was able to inflict the most harm due to the thin, flexible nature of his foil, but the giant man seemed only to be merely annoyed by the punctures he received. Unfortunately, it also irritated him to the point that he focused most of his offensive on the blonde man thereafter.

After what felt like far longer than it must have been, it became obvious that the trio of warriors were gaining no advantage whatsoever over the intruder and that he was feeling no fatigue. Skurge was likely only toying with them, allowing them to wear themselves down against his superior strength and abilities before he finally chose to fight them properly and finish them off. Sif returned to the melee, but her added prowess did little to improve their fortunes.

As for me, I remained standing. But only just.

Receiving what appeared to be an undetectable signal from his mistress to return, Skurge suddenly began a slow but focused retreat. He was still mostly unscathed, although he bled freely from the wound near his throat that I had inflicted. Before he was fully out of the room, he stopped to extract my dagger from his flesh, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor before him and flashing me one last unsettling grin. That left just the five of us, the other four staring at me in questioning silence.

"I do not know him, if that is what you are thinking," I insisted.

"Loki, what the Hel is going on?" Sif demanded. "Why are you here?"

"You are not going to believe any of this," I sighed, my weariness finally convincing me to seat myself.

"That is not surprising, since it comes from you," Volstagg interjected. He had a sheen of perspiration on his brow, but he still looked hale overall.

"The AllFather is going to kill you, you know," said Fandral. He had suffered a slice to the left bicep, and he was holding it firmly to ebb the bleeding.

"Actually . . ." I began, but Sif quickly interrupted me.

"What are you doing outside the Weapons Vault?"

"Protecting it, if you can believe that." I felt carefully along the line of my ribs to check for breaks in the bone. I detected none, but I was still frighteningly tender where the brute had struck me. True, I had been depleted, but he had also been unbelievably strong.

"I do _not_ believe that," Sif confirmed, her arms folded.

"Well, it is true," I replied. "If you could just take me to Thor, I am sure I can explain everything." I leaned my head back against the wall to keep from fainting. "Actually, if you could bring him here, that would be preferable," I wheezed.

"Thor is not here," the female warrior stated coldly.

That caused me to sit back up abruptly. "What do you mean he is not here? He has been searching for me! I came back only because he wanted me here!" This outburst was followed by a fresh wave of dizziness.

"Thor has gone to see Karnilla," Fandral announced, gesturing at me with his foil. "He claims that you wanted him to go, based on some old clue he found in one of your books."

 _Well, that sounded a bit absurd._ "I assure you, I have never encouraged him to go see Karnilla. I do not see why anyone would, even if I did propose something so nonsensical." Of course, this was Thor we were talking about. He would do anything for me, that oversized buffoon. On a positive note, my irritation with him was giving me a flare of energy. "We can talk about all of that in a moment. I have something incredible to tell you, and I must do so immediately."

That was when Valkyrie marched in, her hand poised nobly on the hilt of her sword. When she noticed my presence, she shot me a resentful glare, and then proceeded to ignore me while she addressed Fandral. "General, I have come with news of a situation that requires your urgent attention."

So it would seem that Fandral was in charge of Asgard's armies while Thor was abroad.

"Tell me," he responded, his words still tempered with the strain of his wound.

"My brethren and I have detected an army lingering outside of our borders, at just enough distance that our eyes cannot see detail. All we can discern at the moment are dark shapes, nearly shadows, and they appear to be innumerable." Her manner was completely composed and disciplined. One would never suppose that she had just been shrieking at me like a wounded animal while attempting to deny me access to our borders.

My head was beginning to pound and my vision to swim. "Hela," I said.

All eyes shot immediately to me, much as I would have suspected. "Hela was here. She . . . dispatched the AllFather . . . " My confession was coming between panting breaths now.

" _Dispatched_?" Sif declared. She unsheathed her sword and directed the tip of it at me. "Tell us everything you know, Loki, and do it now, or I will use your vulnerable state as an opportunity to finish what that beast has begun!"

From my peripheral vision, I saw Valkyrie's hand tighten on the hilt of her weapon as a reflex to defend me. I found the idea of her continued protectiveness somewhat pleasing.

"I will tell you everything," I swore, although I could not imagine that my oath was worth anything to Sif. "I just need to lie down for a while . . . to recuperate." My breathing was becoming frightfully shallow and quick. "Or maybe . . . die," I finished as I slid off the bench and onto the chilled marble.

I heard some disbelieving gasps and then some hurried steps coming toward me. Then there was only darkness.


	18. Part 4: Ch 2

~~Chapter 2~~

The Credit of a Sage Or of a Worm

Two weeks in the arena had taught Thor some hard truths. The first and most painful of these lessons was that if he his knee became dislocated during battle that it would continue to ache for days after it was snapped roughly back into place. Another interesting fact was that the Sakaaran petitioners would often envenom the points of their weapons, causing their victims to seize and foam from the mouth until they were either finished off by their assailant, or someone else attacked the Sakaaran while their prey was lying helpless. Thor had personally experienced the second of these scenarios, and it had been by far the closest he had come to a mortal wounding during his days of combat. He was determined that he would not endure it a second time. From then on, he tended to go after the Sakaarans first, relieving them of their weapons and then allowing them to enjoy the effects of the venom for themselves.

The Asgardian had also learned much about the circumstances of his closest neighbor - the large, green being whose alter ego had once been his friend and ally. The prison wardens frequently injected the beast with a solution that kept him in a perpetual state of transformation. The immediate effect of this serum was that the Hulk would become enraged, thrashing and howling until he was barely contained by even his extremely reinforced containment cell. The fit would last a handful of minutes, and then his behavior would gradually transition back to its default state, which was not docile, exactly - more dulled, perhaps. At times, his appearance could even be described as empty, and he would spend an inordinate amount of time studying markedly unimportant objects including his own hands. The green behemoth was also quick to anger, and his episodes of fury earned him yet another variety of chemical restraint that eventually soothed him into a short but peaceful slumber.

In the arena, however, the Hulk was surprisingly focused. He created the same roaring, destructive spectacle that Thor had witnessed in Manhattan and Sokovia, only now he was able to concentrate his thoughts in a more productive (but no less catastrophic) fashion. The Asgardian had witnessed the beast using weapons with a surprising skill, and his attacks even bore the hint of some strategy. Whatever the jailers were giving to him, Hulk seemed to be benefitting from it by gaining some manner of control.

The clear disadvantage, of course, was that Bruce Banner essentially no longer existed.

As for Thor, he was becoming quite a sensation in the ring himself. He was able to summon centuries of battle experience and training in hand-to-hand combat to aid him in almost every tactical situation that he had been forced to face, and in the few instances where he had nearly met with ruin, he had been able to call luck his greatest ally. Yet every seasoned warrior knows that fortune is an unreliable benefactor which will eventually desert him. A plan of escape was in order, and it was only practical that the Hulk be involved since he would be invaluable at crashing through obstacles. Likewise, Thor was not about to leave Banner behind.

While Thor was in the midst of forming a viable strategy, it was becoming obvious that the Grandmaster was preparing for something tremendous. The inner walls of the arena were being gradually draped in colored fabric, and Thor noticed that there were unusually plentiful loads of food and supplies being carried by servants toward the rooms where Gast entertained his guests. By week's end, there were so many beings darting in and out of the tunnels between the dungeons and the ring that it was nearly impossible to avoid colliding with them. His meals also suddenly became more generous and nourishing, implying that he would be needing more stamina for the bouts to come. He was even more troubled, however, when the tailors' assistants arrived to measure both himself and the Hulk for garments whose nature was not disclosed to them.

Two grand battles in the arena went by without the guards coming for him. Now it was apparent that Thor was to be part of something extraordinary, because he was blatantly being allowed to conserve his energy. The Aesir was actually disappointed by this development, since it deprived him of precious opportunities to survey the stadium interior for weaknesses. A large event - which would be full of movement, noise, and general chaos - would pose the optimum time to mount an escape. Every day brought him nearer to the occasion, but he did not know on which day it would actually occur. Therefore, he could only wait and observe for now.

In the meantime, Thor made several attempts at speaking with the Hulk, but each of these only ended in a series of frenzied roars, followed by a healthy dose of sedative for the creature. It was clear that he was going to have to be the sole mastermind behind their egress, and the monster would then have to be lured into providing the necessary assistance. Thor was just beginning to go over ways in which he might deceive the green beast into performing useful tasks when he saw a figure lingering just outside of the cell where Hulk was enjoying one of his chemically-induced slumbers. The being was cloaked from head to toe in a dark hooded robe, and his hand was curled gracefully around a sickly green fruit.

 _Angmo. The thief that had stolen his treasured belongings._

All thoughts of inveigling the Hulk into some manner of action were immediately exchanged for ways to deceive the Sakaaran into approaching the bars closely enough that he could throttle him. "What are you doing here?" Thor growled.

"I have come to offer you a formal apology," the grey man answered, pushing himself off the wall and taking a few steps toward the Asgardian's cell. However, he stopped far short of where he would be accessible to Thor's reach.

"You have come to say that you are _sorry_?" The warrior was crowding the bars now in an unconscious attempt to bridge the distance between them. "Why would I ever accept an apology from a scheming, dishonorable snake such as you?"

"That is perfectly fair. I betrayed you into the hands of a madman who derives joy from watching other creatures brutally fight and die while he sips the finest wines in the Outer Realms. I also relieved you of some personal items that are not easily replaced." Angmo twisted his wrist to bring the fruit to his lips and took a fang-baring bite.

Every muscle in Thor's body was still clenched with the desire to exact his vengeance on his traitorous visitor. "Forgive _me_ , betrayer, but where in all of that drivel was your apology, exactly?"

"Well, it may be completely useless for me to tell you this, but I was not aware that the Grandmaster's scheme would include abducting intergalactic royalty. He simply asked me to relieve a man of your description of most of his possessions before he was able to reach the palace. I had no idea that you were nobility or that you had come under the umbrella of diplomacy. It was only later that I bribed one of the Master's advisers into telling me the true extent of his intentions." The Sakaaran followed this lengthy confession with another healthy taste of his juicy snack and wiped the nectar from his lips with the arm of his robe.

"What service do you believe this admission does me now that I am imprisoned?" Thor spat, his knuckles white around the bars of his cell.

"Oh, no - I did not intend for you to reap any benefit from my redress, your Highness." Although it was not a result of his tone, the title still seemed to come out as a mockery. "However, my guilt has persuaded me to seek you out and offer my assistance, if you will have it."

"I have had far too much of your assistance already," Thor shot back. "I will rely on my own abilities to organize my escape." As soon as these words left his lips, he felt his stomach plunge with fear and misgiving. If Angmo was a spy for the Grandmaster, he had just foolishly revealed to him that he was planning some sort of elopement.

The robed man finished the last of his fruit, pitching the round pit over his shoulder and into Hulk's cell, where it bounced off of the sleeping beast's forehead. Thankfully, there was no response from the behemoth. "I admire your independence, Asgardian. Although I do think that you would do well to hear me out."

Again, the memory of his missing brother was drawn to the fore; this strange little man spoke very much like Loki would if he were trying to manipulate Thor into doing something foolish. He increased his vigilance.

"There are certain pieces of valuable information which you will need to mount an escape, details that you cannot determine from inside your prison or from being led from here to the battle arena and back. You must have guessed by now that there is a special occasion approaching, but you do not know precisely what is coming or when. I possess this information. Additionally, even if you manage to smash your way through every wall in this structure, you will still have no means of leaving the planet once you do. I can help you with that, as well. "

Thor was loathe to admit it, but the Sakaaran made some very valid points. If this offer did end up being sincere, then that would leave Thor with only the matter of controlling the Hulk to work out - and yet that was still more than enough. If the stranger was duplicitous, then Thor would likely either be executed or made to suffer in ways he could only imagine. He had to determine if Angmo was trustworthy, because no amount of preparation was going to save Thor if he was not.

"I will allow you to ease your conscience, you vile little man, on one condition."

The Sakaaran arched an eyebrow, intrigued.

"You first must prove your fidelity by performing a task for me." Angmo's face remained aloof as he listened to Thor's proposal. "You will send a message to Asgard on my behalf, explaining my perilous situation and my location. You will not use any of the methods of communication within the Grandmaster's palace - only a means that is remote enough from his reach as to be trustworthy. You will address the message to the Lady Sif, conclude your transmission with a specific question, and then wait as long as is necessary for you to receive a response. Then you will bring that answer back to me, directly, with no stops along the way."

"Easy enough," the grey man said. "I will do so immediately." The sound of a body shifting behind him made Angmo's face go pale. The Hulk was beginning to stir. "What is the question that I must ask?" Despite his earlier flippant treatment of the green giant, the Sakaaran was suddenly very eager to be on his way.

The idea of toying with his messenger appealed to Thor. If he could just draw out their conversation for a while longer, perhaps until the Hulk began to pace his cage or perhaps even roar at the presence of an intruder, he was certain that Angmo's reaction would be one worth savoring. However, he was more eager to send a missive back to his home Realm. If his friends and allies could arrive before whatever event all of the commotion was portending, then a dramatic and precarious jailbreak would be unnecessary.

"After you have delivered the message, ask for the name of the friend she sent with me to the Nornkeep."

***.**.***

Fandral and Hogun remained behind to search for evidence of the truth of Loki's tale. Skurge had been real - of that they had no doubt - but the rest of the story had rung far less true. First, it would be necessary to substantiate the assertion that Hela had been present and that Odin was no longer in Asgard, and so the pair enlisted the aid of all available Einherjar, searching the palace and the surrounding grounds for hours without finding any trace of the AllFather or his rumoured banisher. Next, the pair questioned Heimdall, but he had had his view aimed outwards at that time and had seen nothing unusual. Finally, Fandral called upon the superior capabilities of the valkyries in order to widen the search to every remaining corner of the Realm. In the end, the outcome had been the same: there was no trace of either Odin or Hela in all of Asgard.

Meanwhile, Volstagg had carried Loki's unconscious body to the Healing Rooms, with Sif and Valkyrie following closely behind him. The journey was strained since neither of the women wanted to meet the eyes of the other despite Volstagg's repeated attempts at initiating conversation. Thus, it was a welcome respite when Valkyrie separated from the others in order to retrieve Eir, the oldest and most skilled of Asgard's healers. Whatever the affliction Loki now suffered, it was undoubtedly serious enough to justify rousing the Goddess of Healing herself.

It became clear, however, that the woman had not been party to her patient's identity, because she gasped and nearly toppled backward into a cabinet of supplies when she laid eyes upon him.

"We would be grateful for your discretion," Sif said with a hopeful inflection.

Eir nodded but still could not speak. She looked again at the body on the table before her and then back to Sif as if seeking reassurance that her eyes did not deceive her. "I can give you some manner of discretion, but if the AllFather bids it of me, I must tell him the truth."

"That will not be a problem, my Lady," Volstagg said and then thought better of it. "Well, as far as anyone can tell at this point," he muttered to himself.

"We agree to those terms," Sif interjected. "You may tell the AllFather if he asks it of you. Now, please - we need Loki to regain consciousness. He has information that we desperately require, and there is little time."

The healer nodded again and then approached the table upon which Loki was lying. He was pale and unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest in time with his shallow breathing. Eir tapped a surface on the side of the pedestal, a square pane of glass that whirred to life at the touch of her long, graceful fingers. The area above them was flooded with a luminous glow, the color of which nearly matched the pale green dress that she wore, and her amber eyes reflected it within her irises, giving the illusion that the incandescence had originated from within her rather than from the machinery before them. The light began to form the basic shape of Loki's body. She was then able to manipulate the silhouette in order to look more closely at certain parts of the interior of his form, and she lingered for long moments on what appeared to be his bones. The others watched respectfully, although they were unable to follow the specifics of her craft.

The examination itself went on for an uncomfortably long amount of time. At one point, the healer approached Loki's actual body and gave him a cursory once-over. She lifted his right arm, removed his vambrace, and then pushed the sleeve of his shirt upwards until it was above his elbow. She rotated it back and forth, studying the flesh of his forearm in some detail. The three onlookers gave one another puzzled glances but did not dare to interrupt her. She circled over to his left side, where she inspected the deep purple bruise on his left cheek. She then returned to the control panel and activated what appeared to be another view of Loki's image. This time the glow that his form emitted had an orange hue, and the radiance was much duller than the original. Recognition sparked in her eyes. Whatever data this last filter had provided had allowed her to make a diagnosis.

Eir approached the silent observers, her face troubled.

"Have you determined what is ailing him?" asked Valkyrie.

"I have. Yet I have discovered other details about Loki's well-being that concern me more."

"In what way?" Valkyrie's face showed clear distress for the briefest of moments before she returned to her typical stoicism.

"He has suffered severe injuries - _healed_ injuries but still detectable nonetheless."

"Loki has fought in many battles in his lifetime. I have seen him wounded on the battlefield with my own eyes," Sif protested. "I do not see how this merits concern."

"These injuries are not from battle. They are recent, and they all occurred within a small window of time." Lady Eir regarded her next words carefully, her index finger poised gracefully upon her upper lip as she considered them. "He has several bones that have been badly broken. Not just from falls or skirmishes. These are torsion breaks, evidence that the entirety of the limb was twisted in order to inflict the damage. He also shows signs of multiple head traumas, including several threadlike fissures across his skull where he has endured repeated blunt force. There are also two jagged scars on his scalp that are invisible beneath his hairline, done at close range with a very dull blade, as if someone were trying to carve channels in his head - cuts that were deep and jagged enough that the proof of them will likely never disappear entirely." She walked around the perimeter of the table, her fingers trailing along the edge of the surface as she spoke with such distraction that she seemed to have forgotten that her audience existed.

"He does show the vague remnants of old battle scars throughout his limbs and torso," she continued, "as is to be expected. But there are also markings suggestive of two very large puncture wounds on his upper chest that are equidistant from his sides, indicating some sort of impalement. Lastly, his right arm has had skin grafted onto it from the elbow down, revealing that his forearm has been flayed at some point."

The group looked at one another for the answers that none of them could provide.

The healer assisted them. "I have no doubt that Loki has been repeatedly wounded, beaten, and tortured sometime within the last twelve seasons."

"Thanos," Valkyrie said beneath her breath, but her rage was plain enough that the word resonated among them.

"We do not know that for sure," Sif replied. She did not look entirely sympathetic, but the severity of Loki's past wounds had sobered her somewhat. "He may have been anywhere in the universe before Thanos found him. Perhaps the Titan saved him from whoever was doing this to him."

Volstagg steered the conversation back toward its more urgent purpose. "I do not mean to imply that these findings do not disturb me," he said gently. "However, the survival of the whole of Asgard might depend upon Loki being able to speak to us within a matter of hours. We need to know if that is even going to be possible. Our concern - forgive me again, my Lady - is for what is ailing him _currently_."

"The answer to that is more clear," Eir replied. "He has depleted both his magic and his life energy to critically low levels. Typically, sorcerers suffer this when they are casting particularly intricate and powerful spells that are intended to withstand attacks of both conventional and magical origins. Often these spells are so robust that they will last as long as the one who casts them still lives. In this case, Loki has greatly exceeded his abilities, nearly killing himself in order to ensure that his spell will stand. It was an act of desperation, no doubt."

"We found Loki near the Weapons Vault before he collapsed," Valkyrie stated. "He claimed that Hela had been here, in the palace. He must be trying to keep her out of the Vault."

Eir's face molded into deep apprehension. "If she is truly his concern, then I'm afraid his sacrifice will only be temporarily successful. She is far too powerful to be repelled for long."

"But why would Loki be protecting Asgard?" Volstagg asked as he rubbed his beard. "He was banished from this land. He should not even be here, and yet he is risking his life to preserve it?"

"If he believed that Thor was here," Valkyrie replied, "then perhaps Loki was trying to contact him." Her face did not betray her deeper knowledge of his motivations.

"Or perhaps he allowed Hela _into_ the Weapons Vault so that she would have the strength to defeat Odin and send him away. He could be keeping us out so that Hela can come and go as she pleases," Sif said.

"Loki's loyalties are a matter for another time," Valkyrie stated. "What we must know from you, Lady Eir, is whether or not he will even survive. If he will not, then where his allegiance may lie is a matter of no consequence."

"He will live," Eir assured them.

They all breathed a sigh of relief but likely for very different reasons.

"Once you heal him, how long will it be before he awakens?" Sif asked.

"I am afraid that this type of infirmity is not something that my skills can heal. Loki must awaken on his own."

"And how long will that take?" Sif was beginning to sound distressed. "We have an army of unknown assailants surrounding the city. Who knows when they will decide to attack!"

"That is a question that I cannot precisely answer. It will depend upon the strength of his powers, the true depth of which I am afraid I do not know. However, the fact that the bruise on his cheek is barely healing is a telling sign. I should think it would be a few days, at least."

At this moment, the Captain of the Einherjar royal guard entered the room. He bowed respectfully to Eir and then approached Sif. "My Lady, we have received an urgent message from a faraway star system. The sender claims that it is for you."

The lady warrior's brow creased with bewilderment. "I do not know anyone in any other galaxy. This being must be mistaken."

"He insists that he will speak only to you, but he does claim to be sending a distress signal on behalf of a friend."

Although she still looked thoroughly unconvinced, Sif turned to the Lady Eir. "Forgive me, my Lady, but it seems that I should investigate this matter. Please inform me immediately if there is any change in the patient's condition." Then she accompanied the Captain to the communications room.

Almost as soon as Sif had departed, Fandral and Hogun arrived with an update on their efforts. There was no trace of Odin or Hela so far as anyone could tell. They had tracked down a pair of Einherjar who had escorted Odin to the throne room in the dead of night, but, oddly, neither of them could remember precisely why they had done so. There was no visible sign of any visitors or intruders, other than the marks they bore from their encounter with Skurge. Strangest of all, no one could enter the Weapons Vault; it was now protected by some sort of magic that shocked and repelled anyone who tried.

Volstagg vowed to explain to them as much about the Weapons Vault as he was able, but he would do so only under the condition that they retire to the Mead Hall for several consecutive drinks. Looking weary and discouraged, Fandral and Hogun heartily agreed to his conditions. With their departure, only Valkyrie and Eir were left with Loki.

"I am going to have the Einherjar move him to his former chambers during his recuperation," the healer told Valkyrie. "He will be under heavy guard, but you may accompany him there, if you like."

Brunnhilde nodded silently.

The guards that Lady Eir summoned carried the sorcerer's seemingly lifeless body away on a pallet just as dawn was arriving. Valkyrie followed the group somberly to the rooms that Loki had once occupied. They were still eerily untouched since the day that he had fallen into the abyss below the Bifrost, although the balcony, she noted, had been sealed off from the interior some time ago. When Loki's body was settled into fresh sheets, the members of his escort began to exit save for the two who would be minding the door.

"Lady Valkyrie," said the elder guard as he retreated. "Will you be remaining for a time?"

"Yes, Agnarr. I will."

"Should we have the kitchen send you some refreshments?"

The lady nodded.

"I will have them send you a tray of food and drink right away." Almost as an afterthought, Agnarr added, "How long should I tell them you will be staying?"

"Until he awakens," she said stoically.

"My Lady," the guard replied, "That could be days."

"I am well aware," she stated as she waved him away.


	19. Part 4: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

A Vision Answering a Faith Unshaken

My dreams during my unconsciousness were both beautiful and horrifying.

Most of them passed by like long-forgotten memories, only allowing me a taste of what my mind was invoking. I saw the largest of the two suns of Alfheim setting over the horizon of their vast ocean. I smelled the blossoms that tumbled from my hair when Sif and I had spoken so long ago. I tasted my own blood from when I had once fallen from my horse and bitten through the better part of my tongue. All of these images and sensations were gone before I could dwell upon them.

Then there were impressions that remained at the front of my mind. I saw that moment of suspension I had suffered upon Stark Tower, only this time it appeared to be in reverse. The strand was unwinding, separating into two distinct lines as it came back towards me. I felt lost, hollow. It was if my very purpose for existence were being unraveled along with the bands of light, but I was unable to prevent it, my limbs heavy and trapped lifelessly against my body. When the fraying elements finally reached me, I was suddenly dropped, plunging helplessly into the well of space beneath me, into that dark void that held everything and yet nothing. Again, as is so often the way in dreams, I was unable to scream. As I was encompassed in the absolute darkness, I heard that eerily deep voice, the one that reverberated through every sinew and length of bone in my body.

" _Equity . . ._

I expected to hear the remainder of his enigmatic mantra, but the other two words never came. I then found myself lying on the floor of Karnilla's training room, obviously bested and aching from numerous hits that I hoped I had taken with some dignity. She was circling me, her staff held proudly in her right hand, and she lectured me as she travelled.

"You should not be so afraid to lose, Loki. Losing is not nearly the worst thing that can happen to someone. Being taken down is the only way to build yourself up again - stronger, better than before. In the most difficult moments of your life, when your soul is more tattered than your flesh could ever be, only then will you truly understand."

Her voice was slowly morphing into one that was deeper but just as academic, only now the words were those of Mephisto. "You will find that you can lose everything - your mind, your heart, your _soul_ \- and still exist. What ultimately matters is that you survive."

I tried to raise myself up from the floorboards onto my elbows, but I did not quite succeed because of the pain.

"There are those who would divide all that resides in the universes into black and white, good and evil," the demon continued, still circling me as Karnilla had been. "Yet evil is all in the way you define it. One man's evil is another man's noble deed. It's all so subjective, don't you think?"

"In the end, when you live for millennia, you must define your own morality." The voice was changing again, back to the higher register of a female. "What the mortals hold to be so important are mere specks in the wind to us. They are like flowers: beautiful but for a season and then they are gone, as if they never existed. And they are all so alike, don't you find?" The speaker's revolution around my form persisted. "The Aesir - ah, now _their_ souls are worth pursuing. They are so stubborn and arrogant, believing that they will endure forever and that whatever they desire shall be theirs by rights. I cannot wait to clench my hands around their throats and just _twist._ "

The figure had stopped moving and was now standing over my prone form. "But you are not one of them are you? No, your blood runs differently than theirs, and yet all of your sentiment and vulnerabilities are woven in with their fate. So ironic that you should be the one to bring about their doom." Her face was now directly before me, and yet the details wavered so that I could not detect her true visage. However, I knew her identity from her voice, although I could have deduced it from her words alone. As Hela's face faded into view she said, "And you will get to watch _every single moment of it."_

I gasped for air. My limbs were no longer torpid, and I was able to sit up. I must have done so quite suddenly, because the figure leaning over me pulled back abruptly, its face once again hidden in shadows. I returned to lying on my back, my breath coming sporadically.

"Loki," said the faceless shadow.

A hand clasped my shoulder, but it was much too gentle to be Hela's. Though the room was dusky, I could tell from the few items I observed in silhouette that I was back in my old chambers. Perhaps the last few years had merely been a bad dream, and I had been here in my bed all along.

 _Oh, but I should be so lucky._

"Loki," the voice repeated, and now it was quite obviously not Hela's. "Everything is alright. You have been unconscious for most of the day."

I made another attempt to see the speaker, but she was completely engulfed in the shadows due to the last light of the day shining weakly through my only remaining window. I could only discern two large, curved structures protruding above her shoulders, which I determined to be wings.

The urgency of Asgard's situation suddenly became foremost in my mind again. "Brunnhilde, why in the Realms would you allow me to sleep all day?" I sat up and began to pivot toward the side of the bed, but her hand pinned me back into place.

"You are not well."

Now that she mentioned it, my head was swimming a bit. "Hela . . . is she still in Asgard? Has she managed to enter the Weapons Vault again?" I sat up once more and was summarily pushed flat to the mattress.

"No one has seen any trace of Hela," Valkyrie calmly assured me. "And no one has been able to breach the Weapons Vault. Wait - what do you mean _again_?"

"She has the Warlock's Eye. That is how she managed to banish Odin to Midgard."

"Midgard!" I heard her voice retreating and then a few fumbling noises before a lamp was lit. She then returned to my bedside. "You really should be telling all this to Sif."

"And I will if you allow me out of this bed!"

"Not yet. You have regained consciousness far more quickly than we had anticipated, and you cannot yet be fully recovered. I will bring her to you." Valkyrie turned to depart, but I clutched her wrist.

"Wait!" I implored her, acting on a blind impulse. "Stay with me for a few more moments." She hesitated, and I could see the doubt flash across her features.

"I promised Sif that I would tell her as soon as you awakened."

"Well, 'soon' can be a relative concept," I said with an enticing grin. "A few more minutes can hardly do any harm."

She did sit down but without smiling, folding her arms tightly against her chest. She studied me wordlessly for a while, and her look was stern and judgemental. Just when her silence began to become oppressive, she spoke. "I could feel it while you were sleeping, you know. The presence of whatever darkness it is that lies within you."

I tried to make sense of whatever she was trying to convey but was not successful. "Come again?" I said.

She was still sitting, but her extraordinary height allowed her to still look down upon me, eyes cold and in full lecture mode. "When we were confidantes so long ago, you would never have entertained some of the cruel and murderous things that you have recently done. Whatever it is that resides within you now, it carries a considerable weight, enough so that I can sense it when you are at rest. It is a tangible corruption of your soul, and it is steadily rotting away at you from within."

Okay, that accusation was actually quite painful. I would have tried to refute it, but I really had no counterargument. The only defense mechanism I could muster in my depleted condition was sarcasm, and so I used it liberally. "Oh, darling, I have missed you, too," I replied with a disingenuous smile. "I feel so comforted by your profound concern."

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes.

"Truly, Hild, if you are so disturbed by my behavior, then why did you keep such a vigil over me?" I was becoming indignant, but then I had another thought. "Unless you are here to act as my prison guard?" The idea was insulting enough that I had to respond with another not so subtle dig. "What makes you think that I could not simply cast another illusion and walk out of here a free man? I presume there are guards at the door, as well, but they would be just as easy to deceive." Now I was beginning to sound more than a little prickly.

"I will respond to those accusations in the order in which you presented them to me." Valkyrie leaned back in her chair smugly. "I kept a vigil over you because I still feel an obligation to you as a friend, but I am under no mandate to either watch over you or to keep you here. I choose to confine you to your bed because you are ailing and because you do not always take what is best for yourself into consideration."

I took stock of her points and then prepared to throw them back at her in some painful, condescending way. However, I first did a check of my well-being. The swimming in my head had all but subsided. I closed and unclosed my hands, noting that my muscles felt more or less recovered. I touched the skin upon my cheek that had been badly bruised in the confrontation with Skurge, and the tenderness there was also absent. Then, I tentatively reached out with my magic. It was surprisingly responsive.

"I feel relatively normal, actually," I reported. "Some of my powers are still a bit lacking, but that should mend itself soon enough."

"That is not possible," said a woman's voice that was not Valkyrie's.

We both turned to the trespasser who had slipped in unnoticed during our debate. Sif's face reflected the shock that her words implied.

"You could not have healed so quickly," she insisted. "Eir told me that even if your magic possessed enormous power you would not recover in less than a day."

Now it was my turn to look smug. "Perhaps my potential has exceeded what even the wisest in Asgard had thought possible. Hmmmm," I hummed mockingly. "It is almost as if I were skilled at magic and had practiced at it a very long time indeed. Perhaps even for centuries." This time when I attempted to rise no one interfered. I was far more capable than I had previously shown to anyone in Asgard, including my unsuspecting brother, and I allowed myself to savor the awe that I had instilled in both women from the strength of my powers. Secretly, I also hoped that there might be the slightest trace of fear, as well. I took a step forward, hoping that Sif would start to reach for her sword. Her eyes widened, but she held her ground.

"So," I continued in the same self-righteous fashion, "how many guards are on that door, exactly?"

"There are four," Valkyrie replied, her tone complacent. I was just beginning to chuckle heartily at the notion that so few men could hope to stop me, when she went on. "But they are not present for the reason that you think."

I stopped with my mouth only halfway opened. "I beg your pardon?"

"They are here to protect you," Sif explained, although she seemed less than satisfied with the idea.

I was momentarily speechless.

"Lady Valkyrie, could we have a moment alone, please?" Sif asked. Her voice was still mildly shaky, but she swallowed her trepidation admirably as Brunnhilde bowed to her and departed as she was asked. The valkyrie threw one last warning glance over her shoulder, whether as a request or a threat for me to be civil I could not determine. Either way, the smile I gave in return could not have been comforting.

"Is this a thinly veiled attempt to get me alone, my Lady?" My words were playful, but my eyes were deadly serious.

Sif approached me carefully, taking a seat further away from me than the one in which Valkyrie had sat. She held her hands in her lap, interlaced her fingers, and then separated them again. She began to speak but then closed her mouth without a word, making it apparent that she was struggling with whatever diatribe she was about to bestow upon me.

"I do not know how to say this, Loki," she said softly, almost to herself. "Not because of the effect it will have upon you, but because of the anguish that it is causing me."

No longer feeling as if I were being threatened, I sank slowly back to the mattress. _What in Hel was going on here?_ If it were so distressing to her, there could only be one explanation.

"Is this regarding Thor?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Not exactly." She leaned forward and surrounded the crown of her head with her hands as if she might lose consciousness. When she looked up again, she appeared to be positively perplexed. "Thor is another matter, which I shall explain presently. No, the reason that the Einherjar are protecting you is that, well . . . . it is because you are the King of Asgard."

I was never more relieved in all my years that I had been sitting down than I was at that moment. "I'm sorry _, what now_?" was my clever response.

"Odin is no longer in Asgard, and Thor is likely in another galaxy. As the Allfather never officially removed you from the line to inherit the throne, you are - by technicality, anyway - our king."

I must have looked ridiculously adrift. I sat there with my mouth gaping for several long moments before I could reply. "I am the . . . you mean to say that I am . . ." I could feel that my countenance was breaking into a ludicrous grin. "I am the _what?_ " The complete absurdity of this situation, coupled with the unimaginable attainment of the one ambition that I had ever held dearly enough for it to have splintered my sanity was enough to send me into an epic fit of laughter.

My forceful cackling caused Sif to become very annoyed. "We are combing the laws scrupulously for loopholes, I assure you," she grumbled.

"I am sure you are!" I practically sobbed through my glee. My diaphragm was thoroughly sore by the time my laughter subsided, and I had to wipe tears from both my eyes. I then transitioned into a simulated sad face. "Oh, I'm sorry. This ordeal must be terrible for you," I said as I almost began laughing once again.

Sif's lack of amusement was palpable. "Did you fail to hear what I said about Thor?"

"That he is in another galaxy? I thought that was simply a euphemism for his stupidity."

"No, I meant _literally,_ " she barked back at me. "I have received a distress call from Sakaar, and . . . "

"Sakaar?" That revelation was enough to kill my joviality with one blow. "You believe that Thor is on _Sakaar_?

"According to the being who contacted us, yes."

My brain shifted rapidly to the gravity of this disclosure. "I thought Fandral said Thor had gone to see Karnilla?"

"He had. However, he has been away far too long. He could have been to the Nornkeep and back three times over by now."

That was not reassuring. The ruler of Sakaar was a maniac who specialized in very extreme competitions, and Thor would be a perfect addition to his battle arena. But how would he ever have ended up on that foreboding rock in the first place?

"How certain are you that this information is sound?" I prodded her. "Did this person offer you any proof?"

"He asked me a question that only Thor and I would understand. What troubles me is that it was a question to which Thor already knew the answer."

"He is testing the messenger's loyalty," I said. "If the courier returns with the correct response, then it is evident that he must have truly spoken with you. It is a technique that Thor and I used a few times when we were lost on other realms. What I find most disturbing is that Thor could not deliver the message in person, because it implies that he is not free to do so himself." I was now completely devoid of all the merriment I had so recently shown. Sif was quick to detect my severe change in mood.

"What are you not telling me, Loki?" Her demeanor was apprehensive and yet still determined. How adorable that she should still have such concern for someone who barely noticed her in the way that she desired, even after all these years.

"I know Sakaar, and Thor is not safe there," I said. It would be better if I did not have to go into the details, but she was not about to make things that easy for me.

"I need to know whatever you know down to the smallest detail if I am going to go after him," she countered.

"Go after him?" I did chuckle a little at that notion, but the act was bitter rather than gleeful. "My dear Sif, I do not think you are aware what you would be facing. Asgard would need to send an army to return him if my suspicions are true."

"So? You are King now. Send an army!"

I sat rubbing my chin while she fumed before me. My mind was running through all the possible scenarios at lightning speed, and there was not a single one of them in which Thor would survive if Asgard showed aggression. "I do not need an army."

"But you just said . . . Loki, I do not have time for your games! If Thor is in peril then time is precious."

"I am sorry, but we cannot send a battalion of armed warriors into the domain of the Grandmaster." I was still speaking absently to myself and not meeting her eyes. "However, I have made that crazy sadist's acquaintance more than once, and I may understand a little of his mind, at least. I might be able to devise a strategy that will minimize the body count."

"'Crazy sadist'? 'Body count'? I am not liking the sound of these circumstances. Do you honestly believe that Thor is being held prisoner by this 'Grandmaster'?"

"In a manner of speaking," I replied. Again, if it could only be that simple.

Sif sighed loudly and buried her face in her hands. The furious maelstrom of so many powerful emotions in such a short span of time was obviously wearing on her. "You know, despite the direness of these circumstances - and I can scarcely believe that I am going to say this - I still find myself relieved that you are here."

"Really?" This improbable confession actually drew me briefly away from my scheming. "How so?"

"Well, after Thor left for Karnilla's, he said he was going to investigate the prophecy of Ragnarok. That piqued my curiosity, and so I perused the literature a bit myself. I had to seek the assistance of Gudrund from the Great Archives as I could not translate a great deal of the most ancient tomes, and even with her vast knowledge, she struggled with some of the most obscure language."

I was not surprised by this information. I had actually undertaken the same task a few centuries ago but had abandoned the pursuit due to the opacity of the numerous archaic dialects. Gudrund was Asgard's librarian and archivist, so aged that she claims to not even remember the identities of her parents. If only I had not been so reluctant to ask for assistance, I may have had more success. Sif had accomplished what I could not.

She continued. "There was a theme that ran through the oldest accounts: two brothers whose fates were entwined by the Norns. Though the details were often vague, in the places where there was specific information to be had it matched the relationship between you and Thor nearly perfectly."

This revelation was more astonishing to me. I had read many foretellings regarding the end of the Realms, but I had not found a brotherly component in any of them. What I had found of my own involvement was not something I wished to share with anyone at the moment. Or ever, if possible.

"The thread of their lives was bound irrevocably, drawing them together even when darkness split them apart. In the end, or so it is written, it will be one of these brothers who will initiate Ragnarok."

I swallowed. So much for secrecy.

"But not without the other," she finished. "When they are apart, the strands unwind. In order for the prophecy to come to pass, the thread of their lives must be taut, and that can only occur if they are together."

I could not decide what irritated me more: the idea that she knew I was the harbinger of doom or that bringing about the end of all things was yet another in an endless list of tasks I apparently could not do without my brother's aid.

"Before Thor left," Sif said. "he told me something that never truly made sense until now. He said that your absence left an emptiness inside him, as if part of him had become detached. The suggestion that your lives have been entwined by the Norns makes perfect sense."

It did, actually, particularly when coupled with the images of the winding and unwinding threads that had been plaguing me in visions. When I had been unconscious just now, I had seen the strands unraveling, presumably because Thor and I were now separated by millions of miles of space.

"So then why are you so relieved to have me here?" I asked.

Sif looked up at me, her eyes ringed darkly in her exhaustion, and threaded one through her long, black hair. "Because the two of you are parted, at least for now. And also because Asgard would be in absolute turmoil if it were suddenly left without anyone to lead it."

"True. However, when Thor is back in Asgard, the prophecy will once again be in motion, if you believe in such things. Which, for the record, I do not."

"When he returns, he will once again be King. The true heir will have returned." Despite her wearied state, she still managed to look gratified by this fact.

"Thor's ascension to the throne is actually the least of my concerns. Hela will return at some point, and she knows that it is I who is keeping her out of the Weapons Vault. The longer I remain here, the more danger I draw to myself and others."

"Is that not all the more reason that I should leave with all haste?" Sif stated. "When I return with Thor, you will no longer have any obligation to Asgard. You may flee both from Hela and from your fate as swiftly as you like."

"I do not fear what the Norns claim to have in store for me. I do fear what fortune has planned for Thor if he remains on Sakaar." I rose and crossed over to the exit, my steps as heavy and sure as if I had never been ailing. "Guards! Come here!"

The door opened and the four wardens that were stationed at my door filed in obediently, just as they would have done for the Allfather. It was such a shame that I would not be around to enjoy this for much longer.

"I have a declaration to make," I told them. "As sovereign of this realm, I have the authority to declare a regent to rule in my absence, do I not?"

The Einherjar nodded, sharing a bewildered look between them.

"I will be leaving for a time, and when I return, I shall no longer be King. Therefore, my one act as your ruler will be to designate someone to serve in my stead."

"Loki," Sif interjected. "What are you doing?"

"You once wondered what it would be like to be Queen, did you not? Well, my dear Lady, consider your curiosity sated." I turned back to the guards. "Until I return, Lady Sif will be the Regent of Asgard. Please protect her as you would the Allfather himself."

"You cannot leave now!" Sif protested. "I have to go to Sakaar and rescue Thor!"

"No, actually, you do not," I said slyly. "You have a kingdom to run, my dear."

"And what will you be doing? Running off to the hills to prevent triggering Ragnarok? To impede the fulfillment of your destiny?" I had left the room and was now moving purposefully down the outer hall so she had to quicken her strides to stay within earshot. Even if you do not believe in fate, it will find you, Loki. I promise you that."

"To Hel with fate," I said decisively. "I am going after Thor."


	20. Part 4: Ch 4

~~Chapter 4~~

An Idle and Ephemeral Florescence of the Diabolical

The copse which had been chosen for the appointed meeting was disturbingly close to Asgard. Since a dome of magic protected this bower from the endless winter that raged around them, it was the only locale in all the realm that was not coated in snow and ice, making it ideal for a meeting such as this one. No one without the power to hold the storm at bay would be able to reach it, and the thick canopy of the trees would shield them from any prying eyes that might pass overhead.

As the sorceress made her way through the low hanging branches, she could smell the fragrant bursts of perfume from the dragon-fires, a flower that she had not encountered outside of Asgard. It made her location too real and the peril of her situation all the more pronounced. It was not the way she would have planned this little rendezvous had she been asked to give the least bit of input into this venture - which, of course, she had not.

But Hela had insisted.

The Goddess of the Dead had always felt that she was impervious to any danger, although she did not likely believe that this invulnerability extended to her co-conspirators. This fact made the undertaking all the more bitter, for what they were about to attempt was a deed of enormous significance. If they succeeded, the three of them would own more realty than any other force in the Nine Realms, and the power they would wield would be unprecedented in their universe. However, in the equally likely event that they failed - well, the rage that the Aesir and their allies would rain upon them would be both brutal and endless. It was a seemingly heavy price to pay for something she had been practically coerced into doing in the first place.

Karnilla used the tip of her staff to nudge aside the denser underbrush until the path to the thicket was revealed. She had wisely chosen not to wear any of her more elaborate headgear or she would be catching the edges on every vine and bough within a dozen hands of the path she traveled. She had a momentary vision of Hela and her antler-like cowl tangled in the thick vines along the path, and she could not help but venture a derisive smirk.

"You are lucky that she cannot read your mind," came a cool, deep voice from within the shaded clearing. The sound was so unexpected that she clutched the front of her robe, startled.

"Nor can you, Mephisto," the sorceress replied once she had regained her composure. "So you could not possibly know what I am thinking."

"Oh, I do not need that kind of perception to see how you regard her. It is written all over your face." She could only discern the outline of the demon reclining against the trunk of a nearby Black Elder, his silhouette divulging that he was impeccably dressed for this occasion even though all that was truly visible was the iniquitous glow of his golden eyes. If he was affronted by the fact that he had been summoned to the gloomiest corner of a forest in the dead of night, he was composed enough to conceal it impeccably.

"I still do not see how you could know I was thinking about anyone in particular," Karnilla argued.

"Well," the demon said, still lurking in his darkened corner, "Hela is the only other member of our nefarious little league - and _I_ am positively lovely." He pushed away from the tree and stepped into a sliver of light within the clearing, spreading the long, pointed fingers of one hand over his breast.

"At least in all of your countless years you have perfected the ability to lie to yourself," the sorceress shot back as she settled onto a nearby stone and draped her staff across her lap. She was still more than a little irritated at having been startled by his presence, and she was lashing out defensively. To further her annoyance, Mephisto only chuckled in response. "So, why are you so well-dressed, may I ask?" she said, referring to his clean black suit and white collared shirt. Not that she really cared, but inane conversation was a way to pass the time until their hostess arrived.

Mephisto's lips curved taut into a chilling smile that exposed his pearlescent fangs. "I am so flattered that you would ask," he purred. "Actually, I just returned from a rendezvous."

"You mean a romantic encounter?" _What must that be like?_ she thought with a shiver.

"Do you want to know who it was with?" the demon said with a knowing grin.

"Not even the slightest bit." Karnilla hoped that her perfunctory dismissal of his question would stall the conversation until Hela arrived, but she was not so fortunate.

"Oh, come on - guess," he urged, nudging her playfully with his elbow. "I will even give you a hint, if you'd like."

"Allow me." Hela's melodious voice emanated from a nearby darkened corner. "He was conspiring with a liar and a deceiver."

"So it was a double date, then?" said Karnilla, the presence of her untrusted cohort only serving to further sour her mood.

"No, my dear," Mephisto cooed into her ear, wrapping a claw-tipped hand over the ridge of her shoulder, causing her to visibly shudder. "In this case, the liar and the deceiver happen to inhabit the same bewitching form."

"Truly, Mephisto," the sorceress sighed. "I do not care to know anymore details. Could we not simply get on with this little engagement? I have other business to attend to when I return to Nornheim." Her voice was surprisingly steady considering the weight of Hela's callous glare.

The goddess stepped forward into the circle, with the hulking Asgardian known as 'Skurge,' shadowing her closely. "Karnilla is correct, Mephisto. We can discuss your amorous intentions another time." Her eyes narrowed at the demon, and his mouth fell open for a moment before he released Karnilla's shoulder and seated himself on a neighboring stump. "Currently, we have a devious plot to execute, and I do not plan to dwell here any longer than necessary. You see, I have set the whole of Asgard into chaos, and I must address that situation as swiftly as possible."

"It's interesting that you should mention that," the demon stated smoothly, "because it seems that the initial phase of your grand offensive was a bit of a failure."

Hela's eyes turned colder. "I managed to achieve my primary objectives," she insisted. "I have the Warlock's Eye, the AllFather is no longer an issue, and Asgard is surrounded by my army of the undead. Plus, Thor is fortuitously unaccounted for on a world so remote that he might never be heard from again. Overall, I think that I have been pretty successful."

The phosphorescent glow of Mephisto's eyes pulsed more brightly for a second, and his smile lengthened until it nearly reached his ears. "Well, yes. Except for one tiny complication."

"Complication?" Karnilla straightened her posture. She was taking on a great deal of personal risk by participating in this venture, so if something was amiss, it was probably worth her attention.

"He is _not_ a complication," Hela stated flatly, but a hollow formed between her eyebrows as she scowled. "He is merely a nuisance, and his interference will be dealt with when the opportunity presents itself."

"To whom is he referring, Hela?" Karnilla inquired, now leaning fully forward on her perch. "As one who has much to lose in this endeavor, I have a right to know if anything is not proceeding as planned." Her voice came out much more forthright than she had intended, and she was forced to endure Hela's judgmental glare once more. Karnilla lowered her shoulders a bit and looked away.

"He is _my_ problem, Karnilla. Do not trouble yourself with such things." It was a clear reprimand not to question her, and the tone suggested that of a parent speaking to an irritable child.

Mephisto looked between both women, his demeanor serene. He folded one arm and rested the other on his chin as if he were considering something quite serious, and yet his lips were still curled in a malignant grin. If he was trying to determine whether or not to rile Hela, the debate was brief indeed. "Loki has shut her out of the Weapons Vault," he said with a gleeful undertone.

It was not a direct slight, but it was a challenge to her authority at the very least. Skurge moved to physically confront the demon, drawing the weapon from his back and wielding it threateningly.

Mephisto seemed unfazed; in fact, he had a bit of a chuckle at the bodyguard's attempt at intimidation. "Please stay your hound, my Lady," he said to Hela. "That is, unless you would like his soul to belong to me for all eternity." Then, to Skurge, in a quite audible whisper behind his hand he added, "I really am rather difficult to thwart, you know, so you should conserve your energy for what's to come." His words were blatantly dismissive.

"Hold, Skurge," Hela replied coolly. It obviously pained the Asgardian to back down, but he did withdraw, although with gritted teeth.

"Is this true?" Karnilla interjected. She was surprised to find that she was standing, and her heart was beginning to quicken.

"It is true," Hela stated. "Technically."

"Oh, _technically._ That is the best kind of true," Mephisto taunted her. The light in his eyes brightened and then faded again.

"I will get in," the goddess asserted. "It will just take more time than I had originally intended." Her tone was haughty and confident, but this did not comfort Karnilla in the least. Hela's arrogance was one of her few vulnerabilities.

"We need the Tesseract for the final part of the plan." The sorceress was trying - yet failing - to keep her voice steady.

"I will get in!" Hela roared. The volume of her reply was enough to knock Karnilla back to a sitting position.

"That is what the army is for," she continued in a milder tone. "Loki is surrounded in Asgard, but he will attempt an escape. When he does, I will crush him until he tells me not only the way to break his spells around the Vault but every secret he has ever held in his entire _life_." As she emphasized this final word, she squeezed her fist before her, tightening her grip until the muscles of her hand shook with the pressure and her eyes were wild with the thought of her vengeance upon the traitorous sorcerer.

This declaration caused Mephisto to finally break his placid demeanor. The glow in his eyes dulled, and his smile was a bit less cavalier than it had been before. "Is that not going a bit far?" he said. "After all, we have all had to alter our allegiances in the past in order to get what we desire. We're _evil -_ betrayal is what we do. Surely you would not hold Loki more accountable than any of our other brethren?"

"He could be cast to the wolves of Varinheim for all I care!" Hela hissed. Her eyes were so savage now that they looked almost liquid in the semi-darkness. "He stands between me and what I want!"

"Well, that may not be entirely true," Karnilla said, carefully measuring her voice so that she did not further incite the goddess. "There is the possibility that the fate of the Realms might intervene."

"Oh?" Hela rounded upon her, her eyes aflame but one eyebrow crooked in curiousity.

"The prophecy of Ragnarok has existed for as long as even the most ancient can remember. The Norns have indicated that they believe the time is at hand."

Mephisto rubbed his chin. "Well, that would explain the appalling trend in the weather."

"What does the end of the Nine Realms have to do with me ruling Asgard?" Hela asked. "You want me to wait for the end of the worlds to kill Loki? I am not a patient woman at the best of times." Her voice was calmer now, even though she was blatantly unconvinced. "Besides, the little bastard would probably survive it somehow."

That comment brought back some of the mischievous fire to Mephisto's eyes.

"Prophecies never present themselves as expected," Karnilla replied. "There are legends that claim all time is cyclical - that Ragnarok is just the cleansing of the Realms so that a new world can begin. Others believe that it encompasses only the end of Asgard itself and all who dwell within it."  
"And to which variant do you subscribe, my dear Karnilla?" asked Mephisto.

"I believe the version that exists in the most ancient of texts and which mirrors the words that are now echoed almost daily by the Seers of Yggdrasil."

"Oh, so the Norns whisper the secrets of the universe to you? Their beloved Queen?" There was no denying the patronizing edge to his question. "No, I believe you steal their secrets from them surreptitiously. Why should we believe that you have any more knowledge of what is to come than anyone else?" he finished. He tried to meet Hela's gaze so that he might confirm her agreement, but she had gone still.

"And what are the specifics of this prophecy, exactly?" Her face was blank and unassuming.

"The most ancient version references two brothers whose presence in Asgard catalyze the final battle. The text describes them in plentiful, if not very specific, detail, but you can likely deduce their probable identities"

"Indeed," Hela responded, her eyes looking past her companions to somewhere beyond the clearing. "So, once the end begins, what happens? How will the 'cleansing of Asgard' manifest itself?"

"Thor will die, and the armies he commands will fall to the invading forces. Asgard will then rise again, reborn, presumably under the auspices of the victor."

"And what of Loki?"

"The texts do not specifically speak of the other's fate. However, the implication is that when the end comes he will no longer be of consequence."

"Still, in the chaos of battle, collateral damage is not uncommon, " Hela replied, her mind churning with possibilities. "So if I let Loki go and Thor returns, the final battle of Ragnarok will begin, potentially killing them both and leaving me as ruler of Asgard?" There was a smirk forming in the corner of her lips. "With Loki dead, the Vault will be open, and the Tesseract will be ours. We can strike our deal with Thanos, and then all Nine Realms will belong to us."

"And the Underworlds to me," Mephisto interjected. His words were peppered with an edge that was nearly threatening.

"Lest we forget." Hela rolled her eyes. "Yes, _all_ of the Underworlds-including my own-will fall to you. Although why you prefer to stay burrowed underground is beyond me."

"I am a creature of habit," the demon professed. He had produced a highball glass of amber liquid seemingly from nowhere and had begun sipping on it, although he was not actually paying the action much heed. "Plus, the chances that someone will come and try to take my holdings , thus embroiling me in some convoluted war, will be quite minimal. Oh, and I'm also lazy to a fault." The notion of all that he might gain still did not seem to be sitting well upon his shoulders, for he remained irritable. He finished the remainder of his mysterious drink in one terse swallow.

Never one to let a challenge - spoken or unspoken - go by, Hela turned on him brusquely. "Is there something more troubling you, Mephisto? If so, this would be the moment to speak it, for once this plot is in motion there will be no stopping it."

The demon bared his fangs haughtily but did not meet her eyes. "I still wish to talk about Loki," he said calmly. "I just don't feel that it is necessary to end to his life in order to get what you want."

Karnilla found herself speaking before she could even acknowledge the impulse. She did not wish to anger Hela any further, but the sorceress did have a modicum of affection for her former apprentice, infuriating though he might be. "He _has_ been a valuable ally," she found herself saying. "There could be a way to deceive him into opening the vault without killing him outright. Then, if he could be neutralized so that he could be of no more trouble, there would be no need to eradicate him."

"Well, I will not be wasting any more time debating this subject," Hela stated. She paused, and her demeanor softened a modest degree. "If you wish to save Loki, then you will have to find a way to deceive him into opening the Vault and then remove him as a threat on your own. I shall be otherwise engaged." It was not exactly concession, but it was as close to mercy as she was likely to come.

"Agreed," said Mephisto, his glee causing his fangs to become visible once more, while

Karnilla only nodded.

"Good. I will hear no more arguments on the subject." Hela motioned to her escort. "Come, Skurge. We have preparations to which we must attend. Mephisto, I assume that this little side project of yours will not interfere with our main objective?"

"Decidedly not. I will have an open line of communication to Thanos in less than a week."

"And you are certain he remembers you?" Karnilla added.

"Oh, undoubtedly. I am not one who is easily forgotten."

***.**.***

 _Earlier that evening.  
_

I would have preferred not to have had this conversation on his terms, but I simply could not remain in Asgard a moment longer.

"She is going to rend you limb from limb, you know." Mephisto said as he leaned back further in his riveted leather chair His eyes betrayed none of the upper hand that he undoubtedly believed he had.

"Yes, I am all too aware," I replied. "Still, that is nothing I can solve in the immediate future - certainly not alone." I raked my hand back through my hair in a rare gesture of unease.

"Perhaps Karnilla will intercede on your behalf," the demon teased, and then he stood with a languid stretch of his elegant limbs.

I took a healthy sip of the cognac in my hand (which I had poured for myself, thank you very much), and the pain of the liquid searing my throat as it descended was almost satisfying. "I cannot imagine that she would risk Hela's displeasure just to ensure my safety."

"Well, then perhaps _I_ could be persuaded to advocate for you." The register of Mephisto's voice dropped to a more intimate timbre, and I could not help but notice that he continued to move closer to me as he spoke. It was then that I realized he was more smartly dressed than was typical for him; plus, he smelled positively delightful, which was likely to be neither positive _nor_ delightful for me. I took another healthy swallow of the liquor before I continued. "I am certain you could be very persuasive," I said, "Although I am equally certain that I would not be willing to do any of the things that you might ask me to do in order to curry favor with you."

Mephisto laughed. "I do believe you overestimate my appetites, Loki. I merely require a favor for a favor, without any salacious intent."

 _Okay, sure. Let's just pretend that your last four centuries of behavior never happened then, shall we?_

It was not like I could afford to just reject Mephisto's advances outright this time. I truly needed to secure his assistance before I departed for Sakaar, and thus I was going to have to try a very risky tactic in order to achieve my aim.

I finished my drink in a hasty swallow, meeting the eyes of the demon with no outward signs of intimidation. I abandoned my glass on a nearby table and leaned my hip against it, my arms folded and my expression churlish. "I would dispute that claim by drawing attention to your choice of attire, which is inappropriately lavish for a casual meeting between platonic acquaintances, but that observation would likely be far too evident to be clever."

"On the contrary, you should be flattered that I consider a meeting with you to be such a special occasion," the demon remarked. He was now pressed against the tabletop next to me, his hand coming to rest in close proximity to my own. "I admit that I do seek to impress you, but it is only because I value having you as an ally. I am a great admirer of your skills and your cunning."

It was clearly time to stymie this little flirtation before my host's efforts began to gain more resolve. "Then I find it truly odd that I never find you leering at my skills _or_ my cunning," I derided. "Rather, your attention typically falls on other, more tangible areas." This barb was punctuated with another swallow of the cognac that I had swiftly refilled. "I would also like to point out that you are wearing a scent so rare that you have hoarded every drop since acquiring it at the Abaddon markets all those centuries ago. If I recall correctly, Asteroth assured you that it would win you even the most willful objects of your affections." _Gulp, swallow, burn, repeat. "_ In which case, I believe you were swindled."

Mephisto must have been thankful that his complexion was naturally ruddy because he was blatantly flustered by my words.

"I hope you haggled her down from her exorbitant price, my friend," I added, just to sharpen his humiliation.

"You come to me for help, and then you disrespect me. That is hardly the way to ingratiate yourself to a potential patron, my friend," Mephisto said.

"It is not my intention to wound your pride. I merely seek to dissuade you from developing a false impression." I flashed him a fetching smile in order to steer him back toward my ultimate stratagem. "However, we are of the same mind where it matters: a favor for a favor. 'Without any salacious intent', of course."

"Of course," he replied, his manner still surly. "What would you have of me?"

 _Ah, passive with a vague air of indifference - now that was more like it._

"I need to seal a rather perilous leak, and I have neither the time nor the power to do so myself."  
"So you do not wish me to deter Hela for you? Not that I am even certain I could if you asked it of me."

"Well, that was not precisely what I said," I insisted with a pleading lift of my eyebrows.  
"So, in fact, you want _two_ favors," Mephisto said with an exasperated chuckle.

"I can only actually risk imploring you for one of them, as it is too perilous for anyone - particularly myself - to owe you too many obligations. However, if you are weighing whether or not to appeal to Hela on my behalf, then you will have to make that decision autonomously, I am afraid." I crossed my long legs at the ankle and swept my hand back through my hair again, but this time the gesture was more leisurely, a soft sigh of distress escaping my lips. The demon absorbed every minute detail of my movements with a poorly disguised hunger.

"And if I should remedy this 'leak' for you, my dear Loki, then what shall I receive in return? You will need to make this more than worth my while after the affront you paid me this evening."

Again, in a series of finely calculated moves, I raised myself up from the edge upon which I had been resting and sauntered over to stand behind where my cohort was reclining. I then placed one hand on each shoulder and leaned in to whisper into his left ear, "I can deliver to you the source of the one true defeat you ever suffered."

Mephisto's posture stiffened. "I don't know what you mean." This statement emanated from his lips, but his eyes vehemently disagreed.

I removed my grip and raised myself back to my full height, folding my arms haughtily against my chest. "Well, if you do not wish to know the location of the only being in the known universes who has ever managed to avoid paying up on a debt to you . . . "  
"You mean _other_ than yourself?"

"Ah, but you allow me more leeway than the average being. Because you like me."

Mephisto snorted. "Yes, and that becomes less and less so as this little appeal progresses." His words indicated that he was becoming annoyed, but his eyes still glinted with some interest. "So you truly know where he is? You could lead me to him?"  
"Oh, most definitely."

"Then I accept your proposition, Loki Laufeyson, on the condition that if you do not deliver him to me that you shall be my consolation prize. Since I have given you so much latitude in the past, you should be a more than acceptable substitute should you fail to provide what you have promised me."

I swallowed hard. This counter offer was nowhere near where I had intended these negotiations to land, though I realized that I had, in fact, allowed myself to be led into this predicament. Disgracefully, there was little I could do to wriggle my way out of such a contract at the moment. All of my recent misfortunes must have left me far more vulnerable that I had realized.

"Agreed," I replied, although I was unsure that it carried the confidence for which I had hoped.

My mettle was certainly not encouraged by the flash of teeth I received in response, particularly when it was coupled with a flare of heat from the demon's eerily incandescent eyes.


	21. Part 5: Prologue

~~Part V~~

And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,

And a striving evermore for these;

And he is dead who will not fight,

And who dies fighting has increase.

The thundering line of battle stands,

And in the air Death moans and sings;

But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,

And Night shall fold him in soft wings.

- _Into Battle (Excerpt)_ by Julian Greenfell

Thor held his breath as Loki considered the gift, the exceedingly ornate box that had contained it discarded carelessly on the side table of his bedroom. His brother turned it over inscrutably between his long, elegant fingers, and Thor admired how the blade moved lithely over the skin of his palms and between the pads of his forefingers. The sophistication of it was mesmerizing.

"I found it at the Grand Market in Vanaheim. The merchant was asking a reasonable price for it, until he gauged how genuine my interest was. I truly doubt he knew its value at all; rather, he continued to inflate the cost based on how keenly I seemed to want it."

"Oh?" Loki's response was both brief and cryptic. His gaze was lingering on the delicate filigree that spanned the crossguard, but his expression remained unreadable.

"It reminded me of you. I cannot say why, but when I came across it, I knew it was meant to be in your possession. With your name day approaching, I thought that it would be appropriate . . . "

"It's perfect, Thor. Thank you." The literal meaning of his words was still obscured by the flatness of his tone.

Thor scrutinized Loki's face for any indication of his true sentiment. His brother had to like it . . . he simply _must._ Thor had been up and down that marketplace nearly a dozen times searching for something that would be ideal, and he had ended up paying far more than what he had intended for the weapon. Yet he could practically see it in Loki's hands, being gracefully manipulated as it was now, the perfectly honed edge catching just a glint of the late evening sunlight through the neighboring windows. It even bore an alternating gold and black chevron pattern along the handle, a design that his brother had recently begun to favor in his tailoring.

Exasperated with trying to read Loki's expression, Thor finally made a direct inquiry. "Do you like it? Truly?"

"I do," he replied, although he still seemed hesitant to express his full appreciation. He appeared almost suspicious of the gift, if Thor was reading him correctly.

Still uneasy about his brother's reaction, Thor began to speak arbitrarily in his anxiety. "The merchant said that it was called 'Thorn' by its original owner. I did not think to ask him why. Or maybe it is obvious why, since they are both pointy on the one end - "

"I do not understand."

This statement gave Thor pause, as there was very little that his brother did not seem to understand, and even less that he would admit to not comprehending. "Excuse me?" he replied, restraining his irritation as best he was able. _Could he not just accept the offering at face value, without questioning every motive?_ Surely that was what he was doing while Thor writhed in the agonizing silence.

"Why now?" Loki asked coolly, fitting the dagger carefully back into the box that had contained it. The meticulous manner in which he arranged it within the soft, black cloth inside was perhaps an encouraging sign that beneath all of his skeptical analysis he might actually be pleased with the gift.

"' _Why now_ '?" Thor echoed back as if to emphasize the absurdity of the question. "I told you it was for your na-" He was halted by a dismissive wave from his sibling.

"My name day is still weeks away. Why must you give me this _today_?" Loki's posture was rigid and unwelcoming, and he gave away nothing either in gestures or in words. He simply stood there resolutely, like a spider waiting for a weaker being to step forward into the snare of his web.

Suddenly, Thor was acutely aware that this conversation was not going to proceed as pleasantly as he had hoped. He would need to navigate a precarious edge in order to prevent Loki from twisting an innocent gesture into a cruel slight that he would eventually turn against himself. He could say that the idea of giving his brother such a clearly ideal gift was so thrilling that he could not bear to delay it, which was not entirely untrue. Or he could give him the more direct truth: that he was going to be absent on Loki's name day, which would inevitably lead to an inquiry regarding the reason - and that was something he did not wish to discuss just yet. In the end, he decided on a blend of both.

"Wait - _what?_ "

Thor flinched as if anticipating a heavy, physical blow.

" _You_ are accompanying Father to Alfheim to negotiate the trade agreements?" Loki's eyes were dark with contempt. "I have spent _years_ studying their language and culture so that I could accompany the Asgardian delegation to Alfheim! I was supposed to be the Senior Delegate for the mediation!"

 _Tread carefully._ "Father decided that it would be more productive if I went to Alfheim instead." _Make it about business - unemotional. Loki would respect such a concept._ "As his heir, he thinks it is time that I involve myself in the politics of the Realms, which I have always been loathe to do." _Now follow it up with some simple flattery._ "He feels that you have mastered all the aspects of diplomacy, but he finds my skills . . . lacking."

Loki's eyebrow arched incredulously. "Really?"

 _Okay, new tactic._ "I would much rather remain here in Asgard, I promise you."

Loki's hand began to trace a path across the table toward the box that held the dagger.

"I shall miss you, brother. I only wish that we could go together . . . "

His brother's nimble fingers lifted the lid aside, re-exposing the knife lying within the soft lining of the package.

"You know," Thor said with a nervous hitch, "I am beginning to regret having gifted you a weapon."

"How so?" Loki's hand encircled the hilt of the blade, and he drew it free of its casing, but let it hang delicately at his side for the time being. His eyes crackled with an inscrutable fire.

"Perhaps I should have presented you with a soft, dull cushion with some message of apology sewn onto its face -"

The action that followed was unbelievably skillful, as with a quick extension of his arm and an even faster flick of the wrist Loki sent the dagger hurtling towards Thor, who was so stunned by the maneuver that he had no time to fully react. The finely honed edge flew past his left cheek, the breeze from its momentum fluttering against his skin like a gentle breath, and then the point embedded itself into the heart of a wooden pillar just to left of the older brother's temple.

"Perfectly balanced. A fine gift indeed," Loki declared, but the barren hollows of his eyes did not echo his statement of praise.


	22. Part 5: Ch 1

~~Chapter 1~~

A Sick Negation Born of Weak Denials

A single streak of lightning split the darkness over the plains of Sakaar as Valkyrie and I approached the Grandmaster's Palace, treading along the dry, cracked earth that made up more than half of this grim planet. It was approaching the beginning of the rainy season here, I surmised. There was little precipitation outside of this time so Gast was able to run his tournaments nearly ceaselessly without the threat of rain, but the beginning of the wet period marked the end of the bouts in the grand arena until the storms dissipated. This unexpected squall was likely to delay the contests another day or two, which should have given me some comfort but did quite the opposite, for the passing of the cycle always ended with a spectacularly elaborate (and bloody) string of contests that resulted in the loss of nearly all of the combatants. It was such an astonishing display that audiences payed a heavy fee to attend, and the festival-like atmosphere lasted for days, punctuated with numerous feasts and hours of dancing. Fortunately for the Grandmaster, the subsequent coming of the wet season would then allow his stewards some time to scour the galaxies for fighters to replace the ones that were lost during the purge.

I had been able to hire private transportation to Sakaar from one of the hundreds of favors that others owed to me (which, at this point was probably only slightly less than the number of debts I owed to others.). Convincing our untrustworthy pilot to land outside of the main city had been surprisingly easy, particularly with the addition of a sum of local currency that far exceeded the peril of the deed. Getting him to land within suitable walking distance of the palace, however, had not been possible, regardless of the size of the bribe that I proffered. Valkyrie had volunteered to fly us both in from the landing site, which would have made for a much quicker journey, and yet the threat of approaching lightning (coupled with the abject humiliation of being carried) caused me to refuse. The largely metallic materials of her armor combined with the similar metal accents on my own garments made additional height a potentially lethal prospect. The desiccated air crackled before every bolt, and the clap and rumble of the resounding thunder became louder as the foul weather grew closer. It was an apt reminder of why I was here, although finding the God of Thunder was hardly the most difficult part of my mission.

As the looming profile of the palace appeared over the horizon, the first large drops of rain began to fall heavily on the parched ground beneath our feet, and it gradually released the bitter scent of the earth around us. As the strength of the rainfall increased, the cracks on the surface of the ground began to swell with water, forming puddles that cleared lazily as the packed dirt below began to absorb it. Having first arrived on Sakaar during the rainy season years ago, it made the surroundings feel all the more authentic, reminding me that this _was_ Sakaar, and that, although my circumstances may have been altered somewhat since my initial time on this planet, it was no more welcoming or less perilous. Plus, now I had Valkyrie to worry after, as well.

The storm turned suddenly into a soaking tempest.

The guard at the gates was understandably wary of two sodden travelers approaching in the middle of the night from the barren lands behind the palace, but when he aimed his light source at my face, his demeanor immediately softened.

"Loki of the Nine Realms! Incredible!" the tall, lithe Sakaaran said as he lowered the tip of his long, spear-like weapon to rest at his feet. "I cannot believe you would dare come back to the Grandmaster's domain so soon! After all, he was quite hurt after you bled him dry on that wager and then fled-"

I could feel Valkyrie's questioning glare upon my back as if it bore solid weight. "I know, I know - he will likely not be pleased to see me," I said quickly so as to cut off the guard's unflattering description of the encounter. "However, I had hoped that the Grandmaster would at least allow me a brief audience so that I might make another bid for his favor."

The sentry leaned on the blunt end of his spear, one elbow resting brashly upon the hilt. "And what are you proposing to bargain with this time, Trickster?"

Surely the revulsion I held for that name must have flashed briefly across my eyes. "I do not consider it so much a bargain as a sentimental appeal."

What I was about to do could have potentially lethal consequences, but I had been weighing my options since leaving Asgard and could come to no better solution. I had determined that the element of surprise was crucial to my continued survival so I swiftly snaked my left arm around Valkyrie's back, resting my hand in a possessive grasp against her opposite hip. "You see, I have fallen passionately in love since I left Sakaar."

"You were in chains and in the custody of the agents of Thanos, when you left Sakaar," the guard said huffily.

"Yes, but so much has changed since then," I said. In an act of potential suicide, I brushed back the tresses from around Valkyrie's ear and then gently nuzzled the skin behind it. Her whole body clenched in response, and I feared for a moment that my gamble had been ill-conceived. Then, slowly, (mercifully,) I felt the muscles of her cheek shift into a smile.

"Yes - _so much,_ " she managed despite the tightness of her jaw.

I turned my attention back to the Sakaaran with a bewitching smile. "My dearest love has always desired to see the Grand Tournaments for herself, but she never dreamed that her wish would be fulfilled. Until she met me, of course." I splayed my fingers out to curve more fully around the bend of her hip and then felt her hitch slightly at the escalation of intimacy. "Is that not so, my beloved?"

"It is true. I do swoon at the thought of so many great warriors cutting one another down like cattle for the base enjoyment of the wealthy."

My fingers dug further into her flesh, this time as a warning that her performance was taking a turn toward being insincere. Then it was Brunnhilde's turn to startle me when she curled a hand over the arch of each of my shoulders and pivoted me to face her. She then raked her long fingers wickedly through the hair on my scalp and smiled almost hungrily. "The senseless violence really excites me." She let her grip linger a bit too long at the nape of my neck and then pulled just enough to cause me some discomfort, which was no doubt intended to be a warning of her own. In return, my lips formed a challenging sneer.

Our feigned acts of fondness coupled with the irritable looks meant to pass for impassioned must have more than deceived our audience, because the guard was gawking openly at our exchange. "You lucky bastard," he whispered, perhaps without realizing he had even done so. "I will send word to the Grandmaster that you have requested an audience." He waved over a smaller guard who exited swiftly.

Valkyrie and I remained standing there partially intertwined, our wordless embrace becoming more awkward by the second. When the messenger returned, he looked sincere but not hostile, which was encouraging.

"The Grandmaster will allow you entry to his palace but only under the condition of close surveillance."

"You see, my darling," I said against Valkyrie's cheek, "I told you that he would not begrudge me the faults in my own nature."

"And yet," she answered, still smiling, "it does not sound as if he has truly forgiven you."

"Indeed, I have not." En Dwi Gast stepped out from the shadows of the towering structure before them, his hands folded gracefully at waist height. "However, I was intrigued to hear about your recent good fortune in finding romance. I simply could not wait to make her acquaintance."

The muscles of the arm that still held Brunnhilde went rigid, and, though the reaction was involuntary, I was hoping that my companion would sense the peril of our circumstances. The stakes in my gamble had just increased exponentially, as he was undoubtedly here to call our amorous bluff.

"Grandmaster, I present to you the Lady Valkyrie," I replied with a curt bow, my words stilted by caution.

Gast advanced on us coolly, his feet invisible beneath his floor-length robes, which gave the illusion that he was gliding. His eyes locked on Valkyrie, and his trajectory altered until he was standing just a few steps before her. In her heeled boots, she was a few inches taller than him (and myself, for that matter), and he was forced to look up at her. Although she held the higher ground, he did not seem to fear her; rather, he gazed upon her with a palpable reverence.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to her hand. Although she could not have been entirely certain what his request involved, Valkyrie nodded her consent. The Grandmaster cupped her left hand gently with his own, and then brought his lips to her knuckles for a delicate kiss. "Come, my Lady," he murmured and extended the crook of his right arm for her to take. Unused to affectionate attention, Valkyrie looked innocently perplexed, and she pulled away from my grasp while allowing him to lead her away, although she looked back over her shoulder to make sure that I was following.

As we walked, Gast chatted amiably about the details of the upcoming bouts and the various events and feasts that would occur around them, but while he addressed the both of us, his eyes still remained firmly on Valkyrie. I trailed the pair through the nearby entrance, quickly contemplating the previous scene in my mind for evidence of the Grandmaster's motives. He had not called me out nor made any attempt to shame or otherwise disgrace me in front of the guards. Instead, he had allowed me to fall in step beside them, signifying that I was considered to be an esteemed guest. Being from the other side of the universe, Gast would be unaware that Thor and I were connected in any way, except for the knowledge that we were likely both from Asgard. From our earlier interactions, he certainly had no reason to suspect that I was royalty, although he was more than aware of the strength of my magic and my powerful contacts throughout the cosmos. So why was he welcoming me back so amiably when I had so recently humiliated him in one of his own treacherous games?

We were nearly to the main audience chamber before I had formed a plausible theory. He had known me as a cunning opponent and a deceiver and had no reason to believe that I was anything else. No one of my bearing would return to Gast's lair after such a short time without an extraordinary gift of goodwill. He did not believe in the validity of our romance at all, I realized; in fact, he must have thought that I was playing the poor girl in order to coax her to Sakaar and present her to him. She was an unusual breed of warrior, a beautiful, winged creature who was fine and strong, and she was well used to the battlefield due to her centuries of combat experience. To his thinking, I had returned bearing the ultimate consolation gift.

Not precisely what I had planned, but it was an assumption that I could certainly exploit.

***.**.***

We were soon permitted to change into dry clothing of the garish, robe-like quality that was favored by the nobles of Sakaar. Then, after a lavish dinner and a personalized tour of the banquet facilities decked out in their full pre-festival regalia, Valkyrie and I were shown back to our mutual sleeping quarters. The most luxurious rooms had already been taken by Tournament guests so our accommodations were modest in size, although they were still generous in amenities. I immediately indulged in one of the three carafes of wine that had been left on the sideboard, leaving it half emptied by the second glass. A gentle veil of inebriation would be imperative for me to overcome my anxieties about the following day's' labors and all the uncertainties that they would bring. I looked significantly less troubled than my counterpart who paced the floor until long after I had prepared to turn in. I had removed my overgarments until I was dressed in just my breeches and tunic and began to turn the lights down, while she remained standing stoically before the only window, her eyes focused with apprehension on the worsening storm.

When she made no attempt to move from her chosen place after several minutes of darkness, I pushed myself up on one elbow to address her. "You should come to bed."

Valkyrie's posture became more rigid. Even though all I could discern was her silhouette against the faint lights of the city and the occasional brilliant flickers of lightning, I could sense that she was clearly out of sorts. After a couple moments of silence, she answered softly, "There is only one."

Clearly, I already knew this, and I had anticipated some discomfort on her part. "If you are concerned about propriety, I assure you that Sakaar does not know the meaning of the word. Besides, everyone in the palace already thinks we are lovers." I patted the far side of the bed without pretense. "You should take some rest."

"My kind do not require sleep," she replied, still speaking to the window pane before her.

I already knew this, as well. "Yes, but the next few days promise to be very demanding so you should at least take some physical repose. Lie for a bit."

There was no answer except for a slight nervous jump after a particularly loud crack of thunder.

Curious.

"We are not in Asgard, my lady," I teased. "No one will know that you shared a bed with your realm's fallen prince. However, if you should tell anyone, please be sure to make my part in it suitably flattering."

A rise was better than no reaction at all, I wagered, and I was not disappointed. She swung her head toward me, and in the dim glow from the window I could see that her eyes were narrowed and her brow was creased. "I have no needof rest, Loki! Nor do I care to spend the remainder of my evening debating . . ." Then two successive bright flashes of light split the darkness, and the resulting rumble shook the entire palace, causing her to jerk away from the casement before she could catch herself.

She was afraid of the storm.

If I had been aware of this fact in the past - that Valkyrie was averse to strong thunder and lightning - I suppose I must have forgotten it. Of course, this was not her reason for refusing to lie in bed with me since fear should have been more of an impetus to be closer to another being if only for the comfort of proximity. In fact, her refusal in spite of her unease with the weather was becoming both irritating and a bit insulting to me.

"Okay, then let me just dispense with all of your insecurities and counterarguments, shall I?" My tone was probably testy. "First, the bed is quite large so there is very little risk that we shall make any unintended physical contact in the night. Next, I have never made passionate overtures toward you before so why would I choose tonight to do so? Your kind does not even . . . 'associate' with those outside of their own species so it would be fruitless to even make the attempt. Third, I know you can sleep in a standard bed despite your wings because I have seen you do it on several occasions by lying on your side and pulling them flush with your back. And, finally, I am completely spent and would like to get some sleep of my own rather than worrying all night about you hovering over there by the glass. So, please, just come to bed."

During my tirade, Valkyrie had opened her mouth to respond, and yet she was unable to find a point that I had not already refuted. She crossed over to the far side of the room and shed the outer layers of her robes until only the more flexible undergarments remained. She then slipped under the bedcovers while keeping a wary distance from me. By necessity, she had to turn towards me as she lay down in order not to crowd me with her wings, but she did so wordlessly.

By now, the wind and rain were waning a little, but the lightning had not relented in its ferocity. We lay in silence for a good length of time, and although I could still feel the warmth of the liquor in my veins, its effect was fast subsiding. The debate with Valkyrie had riled me back into a wakeful state so I lay with my eyes open, only occasionally interrupted by a small start from my bedmate when the thunder sounded. Eventually, I gently extended my arm until my hand found hers in the dark and encircled it firmly with my own.

"The storms on Sakaar are quite wicked. They are known for that," I said.

"Ah, you cannot sleep either," she stated. She did not attempt to remove her hand from within my own.

"Seemingly not," I said with a sigh.

"I suppose you are quite accustomed to thunder, considering how much time you once spent with your brother."

"Indeed." I had also spent a great deal of time living on the streets of Sakaar, unable to escape the ferocity of its weather by being indoors. I did not tell her this.

Seemingly emboldened by the darkness, she squeezed my hand. "So, if you are not sleeping, then we might talk? I believe it might settle me."

I gave a hum of approval. I could hear her breathing as well as my own; mine was slow and steady while hers was more frequent. They were the only sounds in the room for quite some time before I said, "If we are going to have a conversation, then one of us will need to speak. As it was your suggestion, I feel it should be you."

"I was trying to find something to say."

"Anything will do, Brunnhilde. Ask me something inane - that's what Thor would do."

She paused, and I feared that she would scold me for speaking ill of my brother, but instead she replied to me, her words tinged with an unmistakable hint of sadness. "Tell me, Loki - what do you miss the most about Asgard?" The subject of this inquiry was telling for I was certain that she had never been this far from that realm in all her long life.

There was silence again while I mulled over the query. Though my mind was mostly clear of the wine, I could not immediately come up with a satisfactory response, and this point puzzled me. Perhaps there was too little about my false homeworld for which I truly longed. I vehemently refused to entertain the idea that it might be something closer to the opposite. Instead, I answered her inquiry in the only manner I could manage at the time.

"It is not Asgard that I miss, in truth, but rather a time within that place. The time before I went mad."

 _Had I actually said that aloud?_

"How so?" Valkyrie asked gently, her fingers threading between mine. It was an easy gesture of familiarity, and yet the intimacy of it was unexpected considering how reticent she had been to sleep at my side.

"Because my mind has tormented me for centuries." _Was I still talking? Why was I still talking?_ "Yet there was a time when I was not at war with my own mind, when I did not have to beg my thoughts to leave me be, and reality was not blurred around the edges the way it is now. When I did not have to bury my memories so deeply inside myself that they could never again see the surface because the pain from reliving even a minimal part of them would destroy me. That is what I miss."

The stillness stretched out even longer this time, and I noticed that Valkyrie's grip on my hand had loosened slightly.

"I suppose I was a bit too forthcoming with all of that," I said when I could no longer bear the quiet. "Is it my turn to ask a question now?"

"Yes." This response was but a whisper.

"Tell me about the darkness."

"I do not know what you mean." I could feel that she had partially raised up at this inquiry.

"On Asgard, when I was unconscious after my confrontation with Skurge, you said you could sense a 'darkness' inside of me. I want you to describe what it is that you felt."

This time she withdrew her hand completely.

"I am not certain how to characterize it exactly. I cannot put it into words."

 _Or, rather, she did not want to._ "Try," I steadfastly replied.

"It is just that . . . or simply that I . . ."

"Come now, Brunnhilde. I already humored you by telling you how crazy I am. You owe me this."

"Alright," she sighed. "But if you regret it, the blame does not lie with me."

"Agreed."

Before she could begin, however, I allowed myself a bit of an unfair advantage. I curled my fingers inward so that the glow of my magic would not be visible as I worked my spell. It was not one I was fond of utilizing since it completely betrayed the trust of the one upon which it is used. Plus, it often led to the acquisition of information other than what was specifically being sought - usually information which one would rather not have. Presumably, I could be excused for using it in this situation as I was pursuing information that could be vital to my entire being. I reached out with my mind to confirm that the spell was in force.

 _'I cannot tell him the truth,'_ came her thoughts through the black. _'It would be unwise.'_

Her words began: "It is as I told you before: I feel a weight somewhere within you, a blackness that is consuming you." ' _It is poisoning all the goodness that you once possessed.'_ "It is born of deep torments that you have suffered, and the anguish has changed you fundamentally." _'You used to be so different. You were so bold and free of care.'_ "The friend that I treasured has been smothered within it." _'And I must accept that he is never coming back.'_

After hearing both sets of assertions, I had already begun to harbor some regret about my deception.

What would have been another protracted silence was instead filled with the frenzied continuation of her thoughts: _'I was always unusually protective of you - probably closer to you than I should ever have allowed myself to be. I cared about you so much, and I questioned that fondness, knowing that my kind cannot invoke certain emotions for others. And then you returned, with your black thoughts and your corrupted heart, and now I question my own integrity, because I am drawn to you more than I have ever been.'_

I began to withdraw the spell, as the nature of her disclosure was growing too personal, and some things were not meant to be heard by others no matter what the circumstances. Before I could fully complete the action, however, I heard another partial confession from within her mind.

 _'You make me feel things that should not be possible . . ."_

Now that I had heard these words in my head, I cleared my mind and lay still for a time, until I needed to say something so that she would not suspect the depth of the knowledge that I had drawn from her.

"I appreciate your candor," I said to fill the emptiness.

That was our last communication before I slept that night, although I continued to generate thoughts for some time before I was able to do so. I wondered if Thor was being held near the palace and if he had suffered any grave injuries in the arena. Could he be responsible for some of the turmoil within the storm, either through his anger or his pain? No, I decided, it was not likely that he was still in possession of Mjölnir, or he would have found his way out of this predicament on his own by now. How the Sakaarans had been able to separate him from his mighty weapon, however, was quite a tantalizing mystery.

I purposely tried not to come back to Valkyrie's final thoughts, and yet after a time they were all that occupied my mind. I should have listened longer, even if doing so was (even more) dishonest. What was the reminder of that sentence? Did it relate to my 'darkness', or was it something else? Was she ashamed that she was somehow enamoured with my more wicked soul and felt that she should not be capable of such impurity? _Or was it something else?_

I had turned only a few options over in my head before sleep overtook me.


	23. Part 5: Ch 2

~~Chapter 2~~

To Loom Before the Chaos and the Glare

The thunder rumbled fiercely within the cells that held the Combatants. Even though they were partially underground, the rain still managed to spray in between the bars of the outer windows whenever a particularly strong gust of wind would strike the outer structure. Thor huddled in the furthest corner from the onslaught, but he was still soaked and miserable within the first few minutes. As the squall strengthened, the lightning and thunder also became particularly savage. Without Mjölnir, he thought that he would not feel the energy of the lightning as acutely as he had in the past, and yet his veins burned with every flash of electricity that brightened the sky. He grasped his arms and tucked his head to his knees to try to focus and resist the pain that prickled him with each burst, but it did little to ease his torment. Something was wrong.

Or, rather, something was _different_.

There was an unusual quality to the air, as if it were alive or even slightly hostile. It felt as if it were seeking him out, surrounding him with a desire that was as desperate as it was aggressive. Across the electric thrum of the bolts of light came a message that was clouded and yet so viscerally clear: something had arrived, and the balance of power on Sakaar was experiencing an ethereal shift.

Across from his cell, the Hulk was sleeping soundly, only turning somewhat when the strongest claps of thunder came. Over the last few weeks the two of them had been called upon less often to fight in the arena, and so they had spent the extra time sizing one another up. The Hulk still ignored Thor's attempts to initiate conversation, but at least now there was no ferocious howling involved. All in all, several days had passed rather quietly, and even the festival preparations had died down significantly. Whatever was coming was likely coming very soon.

And then the storm came.

The guards had been discussing what this meant for the "event" within earshot of Thor's cell, and the general consensus seemed to be that it would be delayed for at least a day, if not two. Several of the structures that had been erected in the stands for the wealthiest and most elite patrons had toppled in the ferocity of the gale, and many of the decorations both inside and out of the stadium had been torn practically to bits. This development would not likely concern most of the guests, as it simply allowed them more time to celebrate using what was mostly the Grandmaster's money.

"It's so suspicious," the youngest guard said. "There was no trace of any weather until tonight, and then it just exploded!"

"Nothing on this planet surprises me anymore," said a different, deeper voice.

"Not even two strangers arriving in the dark of night in the middle of such a storm and then sneaking up to the Grandmaster's palace from behind?"

Thor's ears perked up at this statement. _Now, this was interesting._ Could it be Sif and perhaps one of the Warriors Three come to secure his release? He barely allowed himself to hope that this could be true as he huddled shivering in his cell.

***.**.**

 _When Valkyrie and I were received by the Grandmaster the following morning, he was accompanied by a familiar tall, lithe Sakaaran named Caiera. Her wary demeanor and haughty gaze often reminded me of Sif, of whom I now thought for the first time since we had departed Asgard. I could only hope that she was faring at least as well as we were, considering we were both surrounded by what were presumably a mass of enemies. As we approached his throne, Gast was fastidiously carving a small, golden fruit with a paring knife that was intricately engraved with numerous inscrutable pictograms. Although the meat of the fruit was juiceless, his lips seemed to savor each slice as if its flesh was truly succulent, his eyes peering out blankly over the view from the window before him. From this elevation, I could see the first few participants being led from the bowels of the arena to its main corridors, fastened crudely to one another with lengths of heavy chain. Though several were clad in ornate armor that had likely been forged simply for this event, I could not discern any among them that resembled my formidable sibling._

 _"Are they not splendid?" Gast said, although the question was directed at no one specifically. "So many souls possessing so much vitality!" He chewed a portion of his snack with a dissolute grin and then proclaimed, "And so many will fall before the day has ended."_

 _There was no reasonable reply to that bit of discourse so I gave none._

 _"It is like the turning of seasons on the Morag of old: the earth offers up its bounty to be cut down for the nourishment of but a few. Then, when its sun returns, new life appears to replace what was lost." Gast took another sumptuous bite. "And so it continues, infinitely."_

 _Like her master, the Sakaaran was focusing on the preparations below. "Yes, but Morag is no longer inhabitable," Caiera replied coldly. "So perhaps not so infinite, after all."_

 _The Grandmaster gave only a cryptic smile in response._

" _Caiera, you remember Loki?" he said absently. The woman nodded curtly and huffed in response._

" _I see your reputation is consistent throughout the cosmos," Valkyrie whispered. "Or is that only so with women?"_

 _I did not answer her teasing inquiry. "So the Grand Tournament begins today?" I asked, masking my surprise. "I would have thought the fury of last night's storm might have caused more of a delay."_

" _I have had teams of workers out all morning repairing the superficial damage to the decor," the Grandmaster answered._

" _Plus, the day has dawned unusually warm and bright," Caiera said. "The sands of the arena will be dry within a few hours."_

" _Even so, the damage to the city would seem to be enough to keep people away," Valkyrie said coolly._

" _The storm was remarkably centralized," Caiera informed them. "The aftermath is little more than half a league in diameter. Outside of that area, there was mostly just precipitation."_

" _Yes," the Grandmaster said to his hands, which were peaked in front of him. "It was almost as if it were centered on the grounds of the palace. Most peculiar."_

 _At that moment, a Krylorian servant approached, swathed in a violet dress that flagrantly offset her roseate skin, and she offered us drinks. Valkyrie sniffed at the overture, mumbling disdainfully about how improper she thought it would be to ingest alcohol at such an early hour. I took the largest beverage and began to make quick work of it._

" _Come, my Lady Valkyrie," Gast said as he stood, finally gracing us with a broad smile. He took her hand, and as they sauntered off, he added offhandedly, "And you, Loki."_

 _We were led off to the Grandmaster's private box in the arena. The seats were already half full of the Master's affluent invitees, the better part of whom seemed to have been indulging in food and drink for some time before our arrival. It was another monotonous length of time before the stands were filled, along with the booth in which we sat, and even longer before anything seemed to be happening in the venue below._

 _The first few bouts were unabsorbing, as they were comprised of two warriors in single combat, seemingly only sparring to serve as the opening entertainment. Though the opponents were skilled and well-matched, these clashes ended with one besting the other up to the point where a kill would have occurred but then did not. Though the loser would likely spend some time in the infirmary, he was far from dead, and it was troubling how dissatisfied the crowd was with these non-fatal outcomes._

 _"These are only exhibitions," the Grandmaster said to Valkyrie, who was seated at his side. "The sons of noblemen who wanted to show off their skill. I owe their fathers some small favors."_

 _He paused to wave over a servant with a tray of meats and sandwiches. He chose one of the smallest offerings and then nibbled at it for far too long. "It will be considerably more engaging later on. By the half-point of the day, I am expecting the arrival of a few Petitioners who will liven up the main spectacles."_

 _I was trying to think of some way to excuse myself for a time so that I could seek out the barracks of the Combatants without being missed, when Gast's words struck me._

 _"You mean there are those who would go willingly into this death trap?" I asked, my tone likely more scornful than I hoped._

 _"Only a few," he answered, unaffected by my derision. "And you can imagine what they must be like." He finished off his tiny snack and then licked the remaining residue from the tips of his fingers with satisfaction._

 _'The craziest of the crazy, no doubt', I thought to myself. This was going to become very grisly. All the more reason why I should depart as soon as possible._

 _As I began to lean in to excuse myself, I felt a heavy sensation in my gut, as if I were having some greatly disturbing premonition - and yet I knew that it was not tied to any portent of mine. It was a sharp tug on my intuition that revealed to me that I was already far too late._

 _Thor was somewhere very close, somewhere inside the arena._

 _The fact that I could sense this would have been usually been irksome, but, in this instance it allowed me to quickly change my tack. Thus, what had started out as an improbable undertaking was growing into something much more complex. I could only hope that my recently-weakened powers were up to the task._

 _In reality, however, I knew this was never, ever going to succeed._

***.**.***

The new armor was well-fitting, but it still felt constrictive in the humid air left by the storm. It was not made of the finest metals, but the materials were solid, displaying just enough polish to make Thor look like one of the elite among his compatriots. Overall. he was not unimpressed with it, except for the helmet, which had no symbolic protrusions from its crown to mark him as a warrior of Asgard. It seemed base and unbecoming of of his status. When he recalled what his situation actually was, however, he scoffed at his own pride. He weighed the heft of the fine shield he had been given in his non-dominant hand as a way to ground himself in the gravity of the moment.

"Alright, you shiftless worms!" the jailer commanded them. "Move out!"

A line of Sakaarans with electrical prods stood behind their line in order to urge the Combatants into the arena if necessary, but knowing the futility of resistance firsthand, the prisoners all marched obediently according to their orders. The Hulk was once again nowhere to be found, having been led out solitarily in the early hours of the morning; yet Thor was certain that he would see his former friend again sometime today. It seems a secret could never stay hidden among so many prisoners, and once one had discovered the nature of the occasion, it did not take long for word to spread through the network of fighters: today was the 'Grand Tournament,' the Battle to End all Battles. Nearly all of them were intended to die.

Although Thor advanced without further urging, his steps felt leaden all the same. The misery of his nearly sleepless night combined with his waning hope that someone, anyone, would be present to aid his escape was nearly unbearable, and yet his adrenaline was flowing just below the surface, preparing him for the conflicts ahead.

He was passing through a portcullis beneath the stadium when the feeling struck him, and he doubled over in the dirt.

"On your feet, blondie!" the jailer shouted from his position at the head of the line. "This is no time to pretend illness, if that's what you're up to!"

That was not at all what he was up to. A sudden twist in his gut had left him breathless, and he felt the force of it as if he had been shocked by one of the prods of his handlers. It was the same brutal tremor that he had experienced last night when the lightning blazed, except that it was tempered with something more familiar. Despite the fact that he was unsure precisely what it was, he managed to struggle back to his feet despite his aching, quivering muscles. Furthermore, he was able to stumble forward before the nearest guard was able to use a prod on him.

Once within the boundaries of the stadium, the quality of the feeling change from suffocating to a sharp ache. Thor's first instinct was that there was a dark sorcerer among their number, and he was subjecting him to these torments in order to weaken him and thereby gain an advantage. When the quality of the feeling became more of a need, however, he was not as convinced. There was something nearby of which he was supposed to be aware - something he was meant to seek out in order to regain what part of himself had been lost and then reforge an ancient bond, unwelcome but stubbornly unbreakable. There was only one presence that could affect him in such an unrelenting way.

But that was simply not possible.

***.**.***

 _"Try the ice wine, my dear. It is positively exquisite." The Grandmaster passed a flute of the pale liquid to Valkyrie, who accepted the drink but did not ingest it._

 _The contests were indeed becoming bloodier, and each subsequent event involved more fighters. The nature of the altercations also became steadily more complex, being comprised of humanoid warriors as well as beasts. As the day wore on and the nearest star was almost directly overhead, I found myself shifting uncomfortably in my layers of Asgardian metal and leather (without which I had refused to go anywhere near a battle, a decision that I was steadily regretting). When a messenger entered the private stands and shifted Gast's attention for a time, I deftly plucked the wine glass from Valkyrie's hands. "May I?" I said as I downed the beverage in two quick swallows. The delicious coldness was magnificently offset by the gradual warming of my blood by the spirits it contained. For a moment I almost forgot about that nagging sense of anguish that was straining at my subconscious._

 _"Why is he paying me such close attention?" Valkyrie inquired with contempt._

 _Now that was a tricky question to navigate. In the end, honesty - with a tactful withholding of certain details -was likely the best path. "Because, my darling - he_ _ **likes**_ _you," I whispered into the shell of her ear._

 _(Perhaps I needed to ease up on the libations a bit.)_

 _Valkyrie's eyebrow crooked in a gesture of supreme indignation. "Why do I feel like that is somehow your doing?"_

 _I wrapped an arm around her far shoulder and leaned in until my lips were practically touching her neck, my breath causing her skin to pepper with tiny raised areas of flesh. "I assure you," I breathed against her nape, "I have not fed any assumptions that he has not already made."_

 _She was about to make a less than gentle inquiry into the exact meaning of that particular phrase when Gast rejoined us. He looked between myself and Valkyrie with a prickly stare, as if he questioned the purpose of our continued affectionate interaction in light of his presumed claim upon her. "My Petitioners have begun to arrive," he revealed. "I must go below and join them in my audience chamber." Then, with a possessive wink at Valkyrie, he departed._

 _I sat back gracelessly in my chair, overwhelmed with the various complications I now faced. I somehow had to rescue Thor without drawing the ire of the Grandmaster. Plus, now I had insulted my host by refusing to relinquish my claim on his immaculate gift. In addition, I had allowed myself to indulge freely in the spirits I had been offered, and my head was currently divided between the lazy sensation of floating and the dire sincerity of the task that I was about to undertake. I gripped the arm of my seat and squeezed my eyes closed, trying desperately to bring myself back to the matter at hand._

 _The Grandmaster returned after a far too short amount of time. Surely he was not finished with his blessing of the Petitioners so soon? My look of surprise must have been clearly visible because he immediately explained._

 _"There were only a few in this first wave," he stated. "The true warriors are still to come." A new conflict had begun to unfold below us in the ring, and half the crowd was suddenly on its feet._

 _Valkyrie and I exchanged an anxious look, but in our present company, it would not be possible for us to converse. Instead, she surreptitiously reached back through the spacing between the seats and grasped the hand that was resting on my knee, giving it a brief squeeze of reassurance. Which of us the gesture was meant to console was unclear._

 _This battle was going to be quite a spectacle, even if it was not the main event. A dozen Combatants had entered the ring in matching armor and armed to the teeth, and, although their weaponry and accoutrements were not ornate, they were obviously solid enough to imply that the Grandmaster intended this round to persist for quite some time. Hopefully, it would last long enough that I could begin to gather the power I would need for my intended ploy._

 _The group of fighters formed a protective circle facing outwards in order to be prepared for whatever happened next, while leaving enough room between for them to effectively wield their armaments. I quickly scanned the bearing and build of the warriors, but Thor was not among their number. Once again, that was a small relief._

 _The Petitioners entered next, their identities betrayed by the violet-red hues of their robes. Although Gast had dismissed their arrivals as largely insignificant, they were agile, well-muscled members of varying races, all equally as armed as their opponents, except that their armor and blades were far superior in quality and adornments. The tension was thick in the air for long moments . . . but nothing occurred. Then, the sounds of mechanisms turning beneath the floor of the stadium could be heard breaking the abject silence. A series of doors opened from within the ground at the Combatants' feet, and through these several large braziers were raised to the surface, their centers piled abundantly with kindling that was obvious wetted with some sort of accelerant. From various platforms that had been erected throughout the stands, Shi'arian archers released flaming arrows that landed within the tinder, instantly causing them to blaze into a row of infernos. I imagined briefly how arduous a task it would be to deflect opponents from all sides while avoiding being forced into - or unwittingly stepping into - one of those flames._

 _I also tried very hard not to draw the ominous parallel between the sight of the archers lighting the fires and the nearly identical ritual of an Asgardian funeral._

 _This battle went on for an inordinate length of time, during which we had to endure not only a bloody clash of opponents but the occasional fiery exchange, as well. As I had predicted, there were some instances where fighters were thrown or pushed into the fires, as well as some accidental brushes with the flames, mostly involving the flowing robes of the Petitioners. The spectators howled in nauseating glee whenever such a horror occurred. The sights and screams of these woundings and demises were truly ghastly, even to one as seasoned in battle as myself, and by the appalled twisting of Valkyrie's features, I could tell that she felt much the same. It was fortuitous, then, that the Grandmaster's eyes were fixated obscenely on the action unfolding in the ring and not on either of us._

 _Despite the risk, I took the opportunity to move into the front row and slip into the seat next to Valkyrie. Gast raised a disapproving eyebrow but did not turn away from the fighting._

" _I am about to do something very, very foolish - bordering on blatantly stupid," I whispered to her._

 _She clapped politely along with the other onlookers at something dramatic that had just happened below. "Precedent demands nothing less," she teased in return._

" _You will not know when it will occur until it is happening," I continued, unfazed, "but you have to promise me something."_

 _She nodded subtly._

" _When the moment comes, ensure that Gast is unable to signal his guards."_

 _She pondered this request for awhile before responding. " And when is this moment, exactly?"_

" _It will be the moment when he realizes why we are truly here," I said. I realized that our murmuring had drawn the Grandmaster's attention, and I leapt to my feet. "Excellent beheading!" I yelled at one of the participants. "Most impressive! I look forward to observing your disemboweling technique!" I raised my thumbs in a false gesture of praise._

 _Because of the scrutiny that we had achieved with our secret conversation, she could not give me a direct answer, and so I could only hope that the softening of her gaze was a sign of affirmation._

 _The fires in the arena were being reduced to embers, and most of the Combatants and Petitioners were dead. A lone Combatant - a dull-eyed Kronan whose wits had long since deserted him - remained panting in the center of the ring, his stony hide splattered with streaks of the blood of those he had dispatched. As he was led away by the guards, the braziers were lowered back into the depths below the stadium floor, and the ring began to be prepared for whatever gruesome acts were scheduled to occur next. I was well aware that this subsequent display could involve Thor; the only comfort I had was that as the events became more elaborate, they took longer and longer to arrange._

 _The time had come. It had to be now._


	24. Part 5: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

To Failure or To Glory

Another guard entered with a message, and the Grandmaster excused himself briefly The pair stepped into the inner hallway where they were both still clearly visible and exchanged a few words. Near the end of the conversation Gast's face fell with an open look of amazement. When the shock subsided, he began to look positively giddy, like a child who had been presented with a much coveted toy. Valkyrie knew that this was likely not a development in anyone's favor, and one glance at Loki confirmed her fear, because he was beginning to look a little grey in the face.

The Grandmaster approached them, his eyes bright with satisfaction. "The last of the Petitioners has arrived . . . and, oh, this Tournament is about to become glorious!"

"Splendid," Valkyrie said, though her tone did not mirror the meaning of the word.

To her surprise, Loki said nothing.

"He's a personal favorite of mine: slight for a warrior but absolutely deadly with anything that has been sharpened on one end." Gast sighed with contentment and then continued. "Strange fellow, though - he arrives without any forewarning and leaves without accepting any reward. Come to think of it, I don't believe I have ever even see his face. Still, mark my words, he is going to slice through these seasoned warriors like a scythe through wheat. His arrival is unexpected but most favorable."

"You expect him to win?" she asked, fearful of the answer.

"Let's just say, I do not expect him to die," the Grandmaster bragged. "He is going raise the standard of this entertainment to a completely new level. But now I must leave you. I go to greet my Petitioners one final time - if you would excuse me." His step practically bounced as he left the stands.

"I would like nothing better," Valkyrie muttered when he was out of sight.

She noticed that Loki was intently scrutinizing the preparations below, and he inhaled sharply when the next round of Combatants were led into the ring. Thor must be among them, but she could not immediately pick him out amongst all the motion of the fighters as they chose their places on the field and readied their weapons. Then she caught the unmistakable bulk of Thor's well-muscled bicep clutching a shield, although his face was obscured by a foreign-looking helmet.

"Whatever you are planning on doing, I suggest you get on with it," Valkyrie whispered to Loki, while still keeping her eyes forward to avoid suspicion.

"I will," he replied, but his voice seemed to quiver slightly. She also noted that his hands were grasping the edge in front of him with an uneasy tension. "When the time is right."

"You have no time," she seethed. She could feel the desperation travelling through her limbs, begging for some sort of physical release. If Loki did not act soon, she was tempted to seize the nearest weapon and simply join the fray.

"Trust me," he said.

" _Trust_ you? Do you even hear yourself sometimes . . .?"

Her words were lost in a sudden swelling roar from the spectators as a giant, green behemoth was led in, trailing a set of massive chains behind him.

***.**.***

The Grandmaster was taking his first steps into the Petitioners' Hall when he caught sight of him - the 'Shadow', as Gast had nicknamed him, though he used another name for himself in the ring. He was wrapped from head to toe in layers of obsidian cloth, including his head and the lower half of his face. Hidden beneath these layers were bits of armor as dark as the cloth, but only a hint of these pieces could be detected through the dark overlayers. He was such a welcome sight among all of the grotesque beasts and naive young upstarts that normally fought for him; he was a fluid, graceful creature who used speed and cunning to cause incredible bloodshed among much taller, stronger warriors. The Shadow knew the meaning of maiming and killing with elegance, his lithe and quick movements designed to add drama to the chaos. This one knew the value of showmanship.

What he did not comprehend as fully, perhaps, was mercy.

The Shadow was browsing the shelves of available weaponry, seeking out the armaments with which he would choose to fight in the arena. He inspected many of the smallest blades carefully before slipping each one into some unseeable recess within his garments. When he had hidden more than a dozen such knives within his clothing, he turned to the larger, more formidable weaponry. He spun a well-crafted spear in his hands, assessing the weight and dexterity of it briefly before throwing it into the nearby wall, where it stuck rigidly. It was quickly abandoned for a broadsword, the blade of which he turned over in consideration, the light playing along the edge of the honed metal as he pivoted the length of the weapon. This choice, too, he discarded by tossing it crudely into the nearest corner. However, his eyes dilated when they fell upon a set of exquisitely balanced short swords.

His taste had always been impeccable.

It was then that the Grandmaster's herald noticed the presence of his lord and announced him appropriately:

"All Hail the Grandmaster!"

The final seven Petitioners in the room obediently fell into line and dropped to one knee, as protocol demanded. Gast was too enthusiastic about the fight to come to take his seat at the head of the chamber, instead choosing to linger at the crest of the steps to his dais. His eyes passed gleefully over the row of beings before him: tall, hulking, and savage, with lethal claws and pointed teeth.

All save for one.

The man in black looked starkly incongruous among his peers, all grace and lean muscle beside the horrific, mad beasts that flanked him on both sides. Yet he was calmly assured of himself despite the savages surrounding him, regardless of the fact that his head did not even reach the shoulders of the smallest of his colleagues.

"I will now hear my venerations," said Gast, stroking his chin in anticipation.

The herald called out the usual requests for valor and sacrifice, and the Petitioners repeated their resounding oaths. It was impossible to tell if the Shadow spoke along with them, as his mouth was obscured by the bands of his garment.

"Present to me your weapons."

The line bowed to him, arranging their armaments on the floor beside themselves to be appraised by the Grandmaster. He strolled before them, assessing each one in turn for only a second. When he reached the man in black, he paused. The short swords were lying on the ground at his sides, and his hands were hovering protectively over the leather wrapped handles. The blades were ever so slightly curved at the point, and the face of the polished metal was engraved with intricate vines intertwining with the symbols of some long forgotten empire. Gast did not remember from where he had been obtained them precisely, but that civilization had certainly been masters of swordcraft. The Shadow was going to be deliciously lethal with these instruments in his hands. That was when the feeling tickled his stomach with an exquisite premonition: this man was going to be the one. He would be the one to bring down the golden Prince of Asgard - the clever, unbreakable warrior that even his greatest champions had failed to defeat - and he would do it in a spectacular fashion. He might even manage to slay the Hulk if fortune favored him.

This was going to be a Hel of a day.

Gast had an on overpowering desire to stroke the crown of the kneeling man's head as he often did with his favored competitors, but the proud set of the man's shoulders forbade any intimate contact. It was baffling how a being in such a subordinate posture could radiate the bearing of someone who was beholden to no one else in the room - perhaps to no one else in the cosmos. It was maddening, but in just the right degree.

As he reached the end of the row of Petitioners, the Grandmaster left his fighters with his usual benediction: "May Victory find you before the hand of Death."

He could not be sure, but he thought he detected a glint of relish in the Shadow's eyes.

***.**.***

Valkyrie was practically vibrating with worry. "Thor is out there, Loki - right this moment! He is about to be slaughtered for the amusement of the crowd!"

Her companion looked far less concerned with the gravity of their circumstances. He seemed to be lost in a puzzling lassitude, and the impulse to shake him into some semblance of caring flared in her.

"The Grandmaster is returning," Loki informed her stoically.

The scene beneath them continued to unfold as the last of the Combatants took their positions in the ring. _Why did he not act?_ Valkyrie wondered frantically. _They had come so far with this one aim, and Loki was going to simply watch his brother's death rather than prevent it?_

 _No, something had to be wrong._

Valkyrie could hear the Grandmaster and his small entourage of guards entering again from the back of the room, and she took the precious seconds that she had remaining to say, "Is everything alright?" She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away frantically before she could touch it, the dull look in his eyes replaced briefly by one of alarm.

"And so it begins," the Grandmaster boasted, as he took his seat. His outstretched arms rested boldly along the tops of the seats to either side of him, including Valkyrie's, forcing her to pivot her entire body to keep him from making contact with her sensitive wings. She noticed that Loki was now wringing his hands with worry, as if he were at a loss for how to continue. She eyed the sword of the nearest guard and wondered how she might best distract everyone in order to obtain it.

At that moment the mechanisms that controlled the lowering of the Petitioners into the arena whirred to life. Almost simultaneously, the Hulk was released from his bonds, and yet he did not immediately attack any of the Combatants. He stepped away from the pillar to which he had been bound and emitted a roar so powerful that it rumbled the stands beneath them. The crowd howled back with an equal vigor.

***.**.***

The man in black entered one of the cages which would descend to the floor of the arena. He was sharing close quarters with three enormous Kronans whose scale made him look like a child lost among monsters. The man looked up at the Kronan to his right who had been gazing down at him with pity, and his eyes grew sharp and menacing with just a hint of derangement. He flipped the grips of the short swords around in his hands with a delicious anticipation, and when the Hulk's sobering growl rattled the metal bars and gears of their enclosure, he only seemed to grow more determined. He had his target. He knew what he had to do.

Bringing down the mighty Prince of the Asgardians was going to be no simple task, but it was precisely what he intended to accomplish.

When the gate opened, the Kronans stormed toward the small group of Combatants trying to take down the Hulk. This battle was far down the arena from him, and from this vantage all he could see was the airborne scattering of the Hulk's opponents as he swatted them away like troublesome insects. He then heard the distant whistling of some arrows being loosed, the sound of their flight increasing as they flew towards him. All but one was going to miss him, he sensed, and that one he snatched from its flight path with his hand, breaking it neatly in two with his fist and leaving it lying shattered in his wake. A small throng of onlookers in the stands who had witnessed the move applauded in approval.

The Shadow's eyes were trained solely on his objective. He could see the Asgardian up ahead, violently clashing with three much larger beings, dodging their blows and then deftly inflicting his own when the opportunity arose. He was undoubtedly skilled at using blunt arms in addition to swords and battleaxes - weapons that required strength to wield and power to wound. Plus, Thor fought astutely, his wide-ranging experiencing allowing him to play to his advantages while honing in on his opponent's weaknesses in turn. However, what a close combat warrior possessed in strength he would lack in agility. It was going to be a closely matched contest, but the Shadow new that he had the most favorable position of all.

He did not have to beat him in order to win.

***.**.***

From the stands, Valkyrie could see the black-clad warrior heading directly for Thor with determination, barely registering the attacks from others upon him during his journey to the far end of the arena. Her keen eyes still allowed her a favorable view of what was about to unfold, and her heart was thudding in her chest accordingly. It felt like some awful premonition come to life: the dark hand of death stalking the Prince of Asgard with unyielding tenacity. Loki had lifted halfway off of his seat and was honed in on the scene as intensely as she was - and yet he still looked fearful and defeated.

 _Was this the 'stupid' thing that he was going to do? Nothing?_

The Grandmaster was leaning against her shoulder, and his ear was far too near for her to speak with Loki. All of the horrible anticipation was only making her itch for a weapon more intently, and she was damned if she was just going to sit idle while her Prince - her _King_ \- was killed on some remote world where he would never be borne to Valhalla. If Loki refused to act, she would take matters into her own hands. Perhaps there was some diplomatic solution? If she offered to fight for him, would Gast allow Thor to go free? He seemed to like her well enough. Or maybe she could throw Loki's craven hide into the ring in her stead in exchange for the return of her sovereign.

She was just about to rest her hand on the Grandmaster's arm to catch his attention when the man in black finally engaged his target.

***.**.**

Thor was locked closely in battle with a broad-shouldered Kree who stood a full head taller than himself, and so he could not have been more shocked when the point of a sword emerged from the point of his opponent's neck, a thick trail of inky blood cascading down the Kree's semi-exposed chest. The wounded being grappled briefly with the hole in his throat before falling headfirst into the dust at the Thor's feet, revealing his assassin when he did so. The man was of a height with Thor, but it was impossible to tell what species he might be due to the manner of his dress: he was wrapped from head to toe in an obsidian cloth that exposed only the a small strip where his eyes were left uncovered.

Thor's first instinct was to thank the man, believing that he wanted to form an allegiance that might allow them both a better chance at survival. However, when he looked carefully at his exposed eyes, Thor knew that was not to be the case - the haunted, murderous quality that exuded from them promised nothing but violent death.

 _So be it._

"Only a coward would kill someone he would not even face," Thor taunted him as he hunched into a battle stance, his broadsword and shield at the ready. He had hoped to enrage his adversary, perhaps goading him into making an early mistake that he might exploit. To his disappointment, the only reaction was a mirror of his position, as the other man hunkered down to prepare for their confrontation.

The first clash of their swords happened so quickly Thor could barely register it. The man in black struck first, swiping at Thor's midsection with first one blade and then the other, his opponent's movements so frighteningly swift that Thor's countermoves were merely instinctual. Thereafter, his defenses were more measured. Having sparred with his brother for centuries, he could manage an assailant who was more speed than power. Unfortunately, the next wave of attacks came equally as fast and more relentlessly. After rebuffing several waves of aggressive blows without landing any of his own, it became apparent that Thor needed to adjust his strategy. He needed a second sword in place of his shield or this was going to be cut to shreds.

The man in black was distracted for a brief moment as a Centaurian and a Sakaaran charged at him, one from each side. With incredible agility and precision, his rival threw his short swords in the air and produced two small throwing knives from within the folds of his clothing, loosing them at his attackers and striking each of them nearly dead center in the forehead. At the same instant he had thrown the knives, he bent backwards, his head nearly touching the dirt while the battle axe the Centaurian had thrown at him sliced through the air above him, mere centimeters above his midsection. When he stood fully upright once more, he held his hands out before him, palms up as if he were about to offer a benediction, and the swords that had been tumbling gracefully through the air above him fell neatly into them.

The crowd at their end of the arena exploded, the combination of the onlookers myriad cheers and howls almost painful to Thor's ears. The other man's moves had been impressive, but he currently had to deal with a complication of his own. To his left, a Shi'ar archer had dropped her adversary with a well-placed shot, and, as he fell, the man managed a final vengeful slight by throwing his short sword towards her. She had sidestepped the weapon, leaving it to hurtle at Thor. Not one to be outdone by his enemy's theatrics, Thor struck the hilt with his shield, sending it directly into the air above him. As it fell, he abandoned the shield and caught the handle in his left hand. As an additional flourish, he spun the sword in his grip once before turning to face his foe once more.

This time it was Thor who went on the attack, striking at his opponent with blows that he knew would take advantage of his superior strength. The other man countered them admirably, managing to deflect the impact at angles that would disperse the force throughout his arms so that he did not lose hold of his swords. However, Thor did manage to drive him back several steps with his first onslaught, which was promising. As they continued to clash, the other man continued his rapid attacks whenever the Asgardian landed a heavier but slower strike, keeping Thor so occupied with defending himself that he could not move on to more sophisticated maneuvers.

The confrontation continued in this fashion for some time. Thor was managing to drive his rival down the length of the ring at agonizingly slow degrees, but their movement was also lateral, which slowed his progress even further. However, this action also had its advantage, as it would only be a few more moments before the man in black would be forced up against the wall behind him. Just as Thor believed that his patient but exhausting strategy was about to pay off, his foe took several running steps toward the wall and then up its surface, reversing his trajectory in mid air. He launched himself at Thor in a move that was so unexpected he had no time to anticipate the result, and he found himself stumbling backwards, his head having been sideswiped by the man's boot. The crowd ignited again, and after the initial cheering they began to make a collective noise that sounded like an intermittent hissing. It was only after the other man swept Thor's legs from beneath him and the audience began chanting more loudly that he realized what they were saying. His enemy had a name, and it was well known to these spectators.

 _Abyss, Abyss, Abyss . . ._

From that moment on, Thor was aware of nothing in the arena beyond the pair of them, locked in a vicious, unrelenting battle to the death. When Abyss set upon him again, he had to roll to one side in order to avoid a killing blow from one of the short swords. He quickly did the same toward the opposite side, but he did not execute the move fast enough to avoid a relatively deep cut to his right bicep. What Abyss did not anticipate was that Thor had sacrificed some sideways momentum in order to lift a leg and use his boot send his enemy hurtling back. The man landed awkwardly on his left side, though he managed to maintain a grip on both of his weapons. He was back on his feet incredibly quickly, and Thor once again was fending off razor-sharp blades with lightning speed.

Thor barely registered the presence of the new arrivals: a flurry of large, wolf-like beasts were now charging around the floor of the stadium, occasionally snatching up a Combatant or a Petitioner in their two rows of serrated teeth. After they had circled the arena once in a frenzy, most of the beasts seemed to be drawn to the most challenging adversary available to them: the Hulk. The behemoth was still squaring off with a half dozen attackers when the horde of canines set upon him. Even so, the Hulk was fending off the aggressors quite admirably with one of the enormous warhammers that had been left in the ring for his use.

As the creatures rushed past their position, one of them managed to free itself from a length of chain that had been used to restrain it. It fell just at the edge of Thor's vision, and he made note of it, as he would need to step around it in order to keep from becoming entangled. Meanwhile, he used a brief respite while Abyss dodged another contender's spear to gauge his position in the arena. He was far further down the length of the stadium than he had imagined, and he caught a brief glimpse of the Grandmaster sitting placidly in his private box, assessing the action with a tranquil satisfaction. Then it was back to dueling for his life with the deadly, mysterious Abyss.

The next few moments seemed to pass sluggishly, as if time were stretching out just long enough for him to think about the peril of his situation. The strangest conception regarded the name of his opponent, 'Abyss': the all-consuming darkness from which none can return. It was an unusual thought at that moment - but also an ominous one. The notion made him strike out at his enemy more viciously, with a strength born of the sheer determination to thwart destiny. Abyss took a couple of nimble steps backwards, and Thor was momentarily pleased with the success of his offensive - until he realized the true purpose of other man's retreat. While the Asgardian paused for breath, his foe dropped one of his swords in the sand at his feet and then grasped one end of the abandoned chain behind him.

Although nothing but his eyes were visible, his smile was clearly evident.

***.**.***

From the Grandmaster's box, Valkyrie could detect the turning of the tide of battle. The agile little bastard who had been antagonizing Thor was clearly luring him into the middle of the arena and also into the center of the crowd's attention. His deft attacks followed by smooth retreats were also leading the pair toward the chain that could seal Thor's fate.

"Clever, isn't he?" the Grandmaster whispered to her as if to a beloved confidante. The intimacy of the act made her shiver with revulsion, although she hoped that he interpreted it in another fashion. "Abyss is one of my favorite Petitioners. He has showmanship in his veins."

"He is impressive," she replied, but her mind was screaming with unfathomable panic. "I should ask Loki what his opinion is. He is quite familiar with theatrics." _I wish he would demonstrate some of them about now,_ she did not say. Rather, she angled toward her companion, whispering in a spiteful hiss, "Loki, _do something!"_ He did not give much of a response, and she observed that his skin had paled even further, his eyes devoid of feeling. He was surrendering, she realized. He had lost all hope of rescuing his brother, and he was descending into utter despair. Yet his lips did move stiffly, and, astonishingly, he offered her a reply.

"I _am_ doing something," he insisted, his voice rasping as if it were emanating from a corpse.

***.**.***

The first snap of the chain missed him, but only just - the sharp edge of the broken link at its end carving a bloody line into Thor's right cheek. A second later, a knife passed close enough to the opposite side of his head that he felt the wind from it bristle the hair behind his ear. Instinctively, he turned his face away from the projectile, which created enough of a diversion that he did not see the chain whip towards him a second time, entwining itself neatly around his right forearm and causing him to drop the short sword in his grasp.

Abyss gave the chain a firm yank, causing the line to tighten to a point where the links dug deeply into the flesh of his arm. Pulling back on it just seemed to cause them to further constrict. He was now tethered to his enemy, and they were left with just one weapon each. Thor had a greater reach so if they came into close proximity, he would have the advantage. Abyss wrapped his end of the chain around his bicep and forearm several times in order to cement his hold on his opponent, but he did not dispose of enough length that he would be within arm's reach.

Then Thor began to feel dazed.

It was nothing more than a creeping sensation at first, a passing light-headedness that then came roaring back as a full on dulling of his consciousness. Had he been pierced by some manner of poisoned projectile while he had been concentrating on his duel? It certainly did not feel like the venom used by the Sakaarans in the arena; it was working far too quickly. He was vaguely aware that the chain was being looped firmly around his midsection, and he grappled with it clumsily, while releasing his hold on his broadsword at the same time. Within seconds he was unsteady enough that one strong jerk sent him careening to the ground.

***.**.***

The battle between the Hulk and his multiple foes had played out to its conclusion. The beast's black mop of hair was glistening with sweat, and his chest was crisscrossed with the raised, bloody claw marks of his dog-like adversaries, the bodies of which were scattered around the dirt at his feet. Another dozen or so dead Petitioners and Combatants lay strewn between the animal corpses. The green goliath was heaving with exhaustion, and he stumbled slightly as the Sakaaran guards encased his arms and legs in heavy chains. His role in the drama over (at least for now), Hulk was led out of one of the passages beneath the stands.

With the departure of the Hulk, the crowd's focus was drawn to the culmination of the showdown between Thor and Abyss. Valkyrie gasped as she watched the leaner fighter strike at Thor with the chain, missing with the first attempt but then ensnaring his left arm with the second. Loki was now standing, his hands white with tension as he grasped the edge of the stands. He looked ill, his face chalky and - something else she could not identify. However, the more imminent crisis was happening on the ground below, and she turned her view back to the two remaining men on the battlefield. After a brief series of alternating jerks on the chain between them, Thor's strength seemed to leave him, and the course of the confrontation began to turn toward the mysterious challenger. He wobbled crazily on his feet and then landed inelegantly in the dirt.

The crowd roared.

"Stop the fight!" Valkyrie heard herself saying as she gripped the Grandmaster's sleeve. "You said there could be more than one victor. You are allowing the Hulk to live - stop this before you lose one of your finest champions."

Settled coolly in his chair, the Grandmaster took a languorous drink of his wine. "One of _Asgard's_ finest champions you mean." He did not meet her gaze, appearing to be mesmerized by the action below them. "What you should truly be asking," he continued with a knowledgeable smirk, eyes still forward, "is why it is you and not your companion who is pleading for his brother's life."

 _He knew, she realized suddenly. He knew everything._

It was time to go. Valkyrie whirled toward Loki, reaching for his elbow in order to pull him with her to the exit. To her amazement, his already indistinct image vanished in a viridescent haze.

***.**.***

Thor could feel that he was being pulled alongside the surface of the arena floor by the chain attached to his torso. At the same time, he was regaining minimal control over his limbs, and his thoughts were starting to clear. He rolled over onto his stomach as they approached the nearest gate to more clearly gauge his predicament. He could see Abyss up ahead of him, pulling him along with little visible effort. It was obvious that he had underestimated his captor's strength - but as he continued to recover his consciousness, he knew that the physical odds would soon once again be in his favor.

As if harkening to some silent hail, Abyss stopped abruptly and gazed up at the stands. In Thor's semi-daze, he did the same. When his eyes fell upon the Grandmaster's seats, he nearly lost consciousness a second time. There was Valkyrie - he was absolutely certain it was her - and the wind from her beating wings was holding back a line of guards, as well as Gast himself. She had her sword drawn and was preparing to fight anyone who might approach her as she tried to obtain a position of higher ground and gain an advantage.

 _This was it! This was the rescue for which he had been hoping!_

That thought was stifled by the tug of the chain around his midsection again, the constricted links biting in wherever there was flesh that the armor did not cover. He was far from liberated at this point, he reminded himself, and struggling only worsened his position. He glanced up at the only part of Abyss that he could plainly see: his feet navigating the uneven sand of the arena with the determination of one who would never allow the assembled onlookers to see him stumble. Yet he was tired, both physically and emotionally, his vulnerability betrayed by the hunch of his shoulders and the faint panting of his breath.

 _What was going to happen now?_ Thor wondered. Had he been promised to this stranger as some sort of warprize? Or did he wish to drag Thor off to a more secluded space so that he could kill him more viscerally? Either way, his time to escape whatever fate awaited him was growing preciously short.

As they came to the archway, two Sakaaran guards began to rush at them, and they lowered their spears threateningly. "Hey!" One of them called out. "Where do you think you're taking -"

That was all he managed to choke out before a pair of daggers pierced both of their throats.

Abyss extended his hand for Thor to pull himself upright, though it was awkward within the snug hold of his restraints. He then unwound the first few loops of chain until Thor could manage to free himself the rest of the way. Without waiting for Thor to follow, he strode over to the nearest elevator car and held the door open for his prisoner - who he seemed quite sure would accompany him - and then leaned coolly against the rear wall, arms folded. Thor should have been too shocked to move or even to speak, but this was no longer the case. When he saw Abyss take down the guards with such elegant technique, the identity of his captor began to take shape. The nimbleness of his step and the efficiency with which he had weathered and countered Thor's offensive was so simply recognizable to him now that the chaos of the arena was over and his life was no longer in immediate peril.

As Thor entered the lift, the now familiar man delicately traced the length of the cut on his left cheek, which was still seeping blood, with one gloved finger. "I am sorry about that, brother" he said in his famously honeyed voice.

"You have done far worse."

"Admittedly," was his simple reply. Thor watched in fascination as his brother peeled away the upper layers of his disguise, revealing his face and neck. Loki looked strangely foreign outside of his Asgardian regalia, the closely wrapped fabric causing him to look even more slight than Thor remembered him to be.

"You know, if I were not so happy to lay my eyes upon you, I would probably be throttling you right now," Thor said. He inspected the gash he had received on his bicep during their skirmish with mild irritation.

"Well, that will be quite unnecessary," Loki replied. "After today, I am quite certain that Brunnhilde will be doing that in your stead."


	25. Part 5: Ch 4

~~Chapter 4~~

Bereft of All Retreat

The oldest part of the Grand Archives was also its most formidable. When Sif had been here the first time, Gudrun had assisted her in sifting through the hundreds of inscrutable tomes, some so ancient that only dust and magic could possibly be holding them together. The languages in which most of the works were written were so old that no one living still remembered what they had actually been called, and even Gudrun could only read portions of the texts. Now Sif was down to examining works that had not even been catalogued, most of which were the only remaining portions of what had once been bound volumes. Again, the languages in which they had been transcribed were far too archaic for her to understand.

The current pile to which Sif was devoting her attention had the odor of earth, the kind of pungent, grubby smell that lingers in the deepest layers of ancient soil. Many of the sections of pages had suffered water damage at one point in their lengthy history, the edges wavy and the ink so smeared as to be unreadable. She was tempted to abandon her search for new information about the prophecy altogether, except that these moments of isolation allowed her some peace from all of the current duties that had been foisted upon her as Asgard's Regent. The next book she handled all but disintegrated in her grip, and she tossed the remains unceremoniously to the side.

What lay underneath the remnants of that book, however, was interesting.

It was still an incomplete volume, but the language was familiar to her: it was Groánic, a tongue spoken by her ancestors from the mountains surrounding Asgard to the west. Although it had not been spoken in millennia, her village had still taught Groánic so that her people might read the inscriptions in the sacred caves of her ancestors, engravings which told their history - and, it was said, revealed their future. To her, they had been just vague but fancy words that told no story at all. But she knew how to read them, and that skill was about to become invaluable.

It was a translation of an even more ancient text, Sif realized, a work that had been lost or destroyed long, long ago. These words told of a prophecy, too, but not one regarding the mountain clans of Asgard. No, this prediction was as clear as the word that appeared again and again in the early pages of the document, but in the old Groánic spelling: 'Ragnœrac.' She scooped up the pages as quickly as she dared due to its fragile condition and laid it out on the only table in this section of the archives that had light. Her heart was pulsing rapidly, and her hands trembled as she turned the brittle leaves of paper, reading the paragraphs as furiously as her rusty skills with this particular tongue would allow. The text was quite similar to the oldest of the Ragnarok myths that she and Gudrun had unearthed, and yet the language was far more accessible. She made a noise of joy that must have travelled two rooms over, for when she next lifted her head, Gudrun was standing at her elbow, her head nestled over one of Sif's shoulders.

"You have found something." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Sif said. "I believe I have."

The two women poured over the contents of the pages wordlessly for long minutes before Sif finally broke the stillness.

"I do not understand this part, here," she said, pointing to a series of sentences that contained a repeating word, one that Sif had not learned in her childhood studies.

Gudrun, Sif had noticed, had also been studying the very section with which she was struggling, only she could see that it was making some sense to her by the peculiar wide-eyed scrutiny that she was giving to it. This knowledge only made Sif want to know the meaning more urgently.

"Right here - this word," the warrior prodded insistently. "It is used many times to refer to the two brothers, but its form is singular. I have never seen it before."

"And I have not seen it for a long, long time," Gudrun sighed. She sat down gracelessly on the bench next to Sif, her gnarled hands resting heavily in her lap. "In a way, it is completely unimaginable, and yet it makes perfect sense."

"Please, tell me what it means." Her words came out like a supplication, her breaths shallow in her urgency.

"It refers to a type of being - or a type of birth. Well, both of these, actually." The ancient woman closed her eyes as if to probe the most remote recesses of her mind for the proper meaning. "The closest concept in the modern lexicon would be a 'duality.'"

"You mean a pairing? Like twins?" Thor and Loki were not even from the same species. It was seeming less likely that the prophecy even referred to them at all.

"Only in the vaguest of senses." Gudrun exhaled as if steeling herself for a draining explanation. "A duality is the rarest of all entities known to our kind. Each soul is born with a measured, finite amount of energy that arises from the lives of others who have gone before. Only once in a thousand, thousand generations, there is born a soul who possesses too much energy to inhabit a living form, so powerful that it would tear its own skin asunder were it to be brought forth with its initial essence intact. The spirit splits into two essences, and each enters the form of a child that is being born at that moment, often leagues or even realms apart."

"The prophecy here names it as 'Dagan-Aptann:' is that its name?"

"Before we are born, we have no true names. The words here are meant to describe it as a being of Darkness and Light. More specifically, Dawn and Dusk - the coming and going of the light , fluid and inconstant. It implies a being in a state of perpetual change."

Sif sighed, her disappointment deflating her almost literally. "So it could not be Thor and Loki, then."

"And why not?" Gudrun challenged her. "Are the Princes of Asgard not constantly evolving? They visit me only once every few centuries, and yet each time that I meet them is as if it were the first."

That point was difficult to refute. Thor was fundamentally not the same arrogant, boorish man he had been centuries ago. And Loki - well, he was as mercurial as the waves on a sea, far from the reserved, scholarly youth that he had been at the beginning. Yet the same could likely be said of any Asgardian over the length of many mortal lifetimes. Plus, there was the little matter of Loki's birth.

"It is more an issue of timing, Lady Gudrun," Sif said. "Thor was born several years before Loki. It would not make sense for him to be the other half of the duality."

"Or so the Allfather would have everyone believe. Yet the facts were exposed with the disclosure of Loki's true lineage. Thor was born during the battle with Jotunheim; Loki was brought back from the temple when Odin returned from the battle with Jotunheim."

"But Loki was first seen after Queen Frigga returned from an extended trip to visit her family in Vanaheim. He was clearly newborn, or so my parents have told me."

Gudrun chuckled, but the act was good-natured rather than condescending. "Your parents did not likely witness that event with their own eyes. It is more probable that they merely repeated what was presented to them as fact."

' _Yet I feel him even now - or, rather, the_ _ **absence**_ _of him . . . like a part of me has been detached and that its lack has left a chasm within me._ ' Thor's words before his departure. Sif turned them over in her mind now with new eyes.

"Besides," Gudrun continued. "A newly born Jotun stays in its infancy longer than an Aesir. It would be a simple task for Frigga to raise the boys in another Realm until Thor was grown enough to seem significantly older and then return with a second, 'newborn' son."

The warrior shook her head in futile denial.

"If you need further proof, your Excellency," Gudrun continued, ignoring the sour response that Sif had given to the use of her official title, "it lies before you. If you read on further, it describes the linked quality of the halves." The librarian brushed the section lightly with her index finger. "'As lucent as one half becomes, so shall the other half descend into darkness by equal degrees.'"

' _We are balanced, I suppose you would describe it. It is as though my rise was the cause of his decline . . . What feeds me devours him.'_

"Impossible," Sif whispered. And yet so very, very possible. She could hardly deny it with the veracity of it spread out before her in words translated from texts older than her own Realm. "But if they are two halves of one being, then how -"

Sif found her thought interrupted by the entrance of a valkyrie, her fair skin and hair creating a sharp contrast to the dark plating of her armor. She marched over to where the lady Regent was sitting and then waited for Sif to acknowledge her. The responsibilities of the world outside the archives had found her once again.

"What is it, Sigrun?" Sif sighed.

"Your Excellency," the valkyrie answered, her voice placid but authoritative, "the army surrounding Asgard has begun to move."

"I do not suppose there is any chance that they are retreating," said Sif. For all of her outward calmness, her heart had begun to beat fiercely in her chest.

"No, your Excellency, but they are not moving with much haste."

"Forgive me, Lady Gudrun," Sif said as she bowed to the ancient woman, "but I must see to the defense of Asgard."

The archivist nodded solemnly.

***.**.***

From the ramparts surrounding the city's outer walls, Sigrun's words could be easily confirmed: the ring of shadowy figures that encircled the main city had advanced their ranks several hundred yards. Mercifully, as if by some predetermined plan, they had also stopped after this first burst of movement.

As Sif approached the row of valkyries on the parapet, Ròta, Brunnhilde's second-in-command, was gazing out sternly over the surrounding landscape. She did not start when Sif spoke before fully approaching her. "I have been told that the invaders are moving. What is our situation?"

Ròta nodded toward the dark line of figures that had encircled them for days without any signs of hostility. "They have moved inward nearly half a league but appear to have halted again." The valkyrie was clad from head to toe in various layers of white cloth - from leather to fabric to fur - and her stoic demeanor gave the impression that she was a stunningly beautiful statue carved from the finest marble.

"What does it mean?" Sif asked.

"Well, your Excellency, it would appear to mean almost nothing from a strategic standpoint. However, from our perspective, it is a tactical advantage."

"How so?"

"They have advanced to a point where we can finally see what we are up against."

The obvious, unspoken question lingered between the two women for several moments.

"It is indeed an army," Ròta confirmed, her voice unchanging, "although it is unlike any such force that I have ever expected to face."

Such blunt honesty from a valkyrie was unexpected - and likely ominous. Sif waited patiently for her to continue.

"I was uncertain at first, but I have sent scouts to the perimeters who have confirmed my fears. There is an army of the dead surrounding Asgard." This disclosure was made through a voice that bore no apprehension. Whatever battles Ròta had seen in her countless millennia must have been dire indeed.

"It is an army undoubtedly led by the mistress of their realm," Sif said. "Interesting," she added as an afterthought. _Loki was telling the truth._

"Although they have advanced into our territory, they are still well outside of the walls of Asgard," the commander continued.

"To what end?" Sif asked. "Why come close enough to be seen and then not take advantage of the element of surprise?" Her thoughts were being flooded with dozens of possible scenarios, each of which would require her to make quick and cruel decisions.

"Despite its appearance, I believe it is still a strategic move, your Excellency," Ròta replied. Her eyes were still locked gravely on the horizon. "Hela loses the advantage of surprise, but she gains a far more effective weapon."

"Which is?" Sif said, although she dreaded the reply.

"Fear," said Ròta grimly.

***.**.***

The second that Loki's form dissolved, Valkyrie experienced a raging dichotomy of fury and despair. Unfortunately, there was only time to adequately address one of these under her current circumstances. She whirled toward the nearest guard, divesting him of his weapon and then wielding it on the other guards in her vicinity. It was one of the favored Sakaaran longspears, and she was able to use its length to wipe out those in her path rather effortlessly. However, they were quickly replaced by ten others, drawn to her position by the uproar that had ensued.

Rather than try to engage that number of adversaries directly, Valkyrie rose into the air, extending her broad, muscular wings and flapping them forcefully. The strength of the resulting wind held her enemies in check for the moment, but a more cohesive defense was going to be needed, and hastily so. She unsheathed the sword at her hip, and, as she did so, she felt the weight of another gaze upon her, albeit from a significant distance. Amidst the havoc in the stands, she was still able to lock eyes with the black-clad warrior across the stadium who was in the process of dragging Thor, chained and helpless, across the arena. As soon as their eyes met, she felt a hot prickle run beneath her skin, travelling inwards from her extremities to her chest, which then ignited a flame of rage deep within her. _Loki had let her fret and nearly panic over a situation he had been manipulating all along. May the halls of Valhalla help him when she finally laid her hands upon him!_

Valkyrie had no further opportunity to consider her vengeance, for the Grandmaster was now leering up at her with a rapacious grin. "My, my - you are more glorious than I had ever imagined." His robes fluttered in the gusts created by her wing beats, but his demeanor was utterly calm. "If you come down, I will tell you a secret." He extended a hand for her to accept.

"If you wish to reveal something to me, you can do it from there," she replied, changing her grip on her sword as if making to run him through with it.

"Very well," Gast replied. "I shall tell you my secret." Though he retracted the hand he had offered her, the smirk upon his lips lingered. "The show is not yet over."

 _Okay, that statement was worrisome._ She subconsciously dropped a bit of altitude.

"I bet you want to know where your companion is," the Grandmaster continued.

"Yes, so that I may kill the devious little wretch!" Valkyrie felt the anger flaring in her gut again.

"Then our objectives are not at odds. You see, Loki may be able to change his image or shield himself from sight, but there are senses that are far more difficult to fool than vision."

"What are you implying?" she said, her jaw clenched.

"Well, my Lady, I happen to have an infallible method of tracking him down," he purred. "And Loki will never see it coming."

***.**.***

The elevator stopped on the main floor, and the doors opened onto a maze of hallways. Loki frowned as he studied them, one long finger rubbing the base of his chin as he considered their predicament. Following a pause so lengthy that Thor began to tense with anxiety, his brother said, "I don't suppose you know your way out from here?"

"They do not usually lead the prisoners out through the front gate," Thor answered, annoyed. "Is this your first rescue, brother? Because if it fails, there may never be a second."

"Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?" Loki shot back with equal irritation. "I have reached the limits of my capacity for magic and combat - and patience! You are fortunate that I even came for you at all. Do not make me wish that I had done otherwise!"

Although their exchange was fraught with aggravation, the rhythm of it was so familiar and so dearly missed that they both began to smile, and this gradually dissolved into amiable laughter. When it subsided, Thor clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Sincerely, though, this has been the least enjoyable rescue ever."

"If you can remember your way back to your cell, then you may go there instead," Loki replied haughtily.

Thor was about to respond when the floor beneath them rumbled violently, causing each of them to cling to the nearest doorway.

"What in Hel was that?" Thor exclaimed, and he searched Loki's face for what he hoped would be an answer. Unfortunately, Loki only reflected Thor's look of distress. The tremor was then followed by a roar of such magnitude that they had to cover their ears to endure it. This outburst caused them both to move swiftly down the main corridor.

"We need to find Banner and leave immediately," Thor announced as they half-ran, half- walked along the unfamiliar passageway.

This statement made Loki stop cold. "You must be daft! I did not come here to rescue that ridiculous beast!" He reached for Thor's arm and forced his brother to turn back to face him. "I am serious, brother - if we return to retrieve that senseless creature, we will be killed! It would be the purest form of madness!"

"That may be, but you will not sway me otherwise. I came to this wretched planet with one aim, and I have suffered too long not to succeed in it. This is not over yet, at least not for me."

A second round of shaking beneath their feet could not prevent Loki from glaring at Thor, his hand still fiercely gripping his brother's arm. "If you go back for him, then you go alone. I will not return with you."

Thor paused for only a beat before he was striding back toward the elevator.

"This is absurd!" Loki called after him. "You are going to be slaughtered!"

The side of the hall that faced toward the interior of the arena was comprised of large panels of translucent windows, and the commotion from inside the stadium resulted in a series of eerie shadows through the smoky glass. Loki stood forlornly amid the shifting light that filtered in from the outside, his arms hanging at his sides while he considered what to do. His rumination was interrupted by the most unusual sound, like several short bursts of air. Like inhalations, perhaps, but too powerful to belong to any being that he was likely to encounter on this planet. The corridor also began to darken, as if a sudden cloud had passed before the each of the suns - and then that _noise_ again, almost like . . .

Like sniffing. The sniffing of an absolutely enormous creature.

 _Oh, this was very bad._

Loki slowly pivoted toward the wall of glass, and he could see the silhouette of the huge canine nosing about the seams of the windows. The deep tinting of the panes likely prevented even a keen-eyed beast from seeing clearly into the interior, but this creature would need no visual confirmation of his identity if it had been exposed to anything that he had touched, worn, or slept upon while on Sakaar. Since its snout was honing in on his approximate location behind the glass, Loki quickly determined that this had indeed been the case. Only the Grandmaster could have set this particular monster on his trail, and he cursed himself that he had not prepared for it.

Just as Loki turned and sprinted back toward the path that Thor had taken, a great, shattering explosion occurred where he had been standing. Shards of glass sprayed across the corridor, and the burst was powerful enough that he could feel them pinging off the back of his garments. The disturbance was then followed by the overwhelming sound of snarling and a powerful shuddering of the structure around him as the beast attempted to force its huge muzzle into the corridor to snap at him. What the whole scene actually looked like, Loki could not determine because he was running full-speed in the opposite direction and resolutely not glancing back over his shoulder. He could feel the hot, fetid breath of the creature enter the corridor, but he knew that the opening was much too narrow for his pursuer to wedge in far enough to grasp him.

The haste of Loki's evacuation meant that he quickly encountered his brother, who had heard the ruckus and was nobly heading back to confront whatever might have caused it. Loki hooked his arm under Thor's as he passed and began hauling him back towards the elevator.

"What was that?" Thor asked, breathless.

Loki said nothing as he continued to move them both along.

"Are you injured? Are we being pursued?"

Still, he said nothing.

"Loki!" Thor demanded, wrenching his arm from the other man's grip just as they entered the car. "Tell me what is going on here!"

Loki pressed the button that would lower them back to the level of the arena, and Thor could see the flecks of glass peppering the back of his brother's clothes. The effect was like staring into a deep corner of space, the tiny reflections of light on the black fabric giving the impression of a million unreachable stars. ' _Abyss',_ Thor pondered with a huff. _Right now the name actually suited him._

"I fear for once that you are correct," Loki finally responded, his face pale but his look still quite determined. "This is not over yet."


	26. Part 6: Prologue

~~Part VI~~

Wars have been and wars will be

Till the human race is run;

Battles red by land and sea,

Never peace beneath the sun.

I am old and little care;

I'll be cold, my lips be dumb:

Brother mine, beware, beware . . .

Evil looms the wrath to come.

- _Little Brother (Excerpt)_ by Robert William Service

The eyes of the class were fixed on me, their cheeks pinked with exertion. It was apparent from their self-satisfied grins that they expected nothing less than luminous praise, and, as I began to speak, I could see their faces animate with anticipation.  
"That was quite . . . "

Smiles broadened.

" . . . poor, actually," I said, breaking both hearts and spirits as I did so. The honesty may have been a little cruel, but it was necessary. "I weep to think that you will be the next generation of guardians of this realm." An abrupt slumping of shoulders followed. I paused and allowed them to absorb my words, pacing a few steps to one side as I did so. "Can anyone tell me what was wrong with your collective performance today?"

Feet shuffled. No one spoke.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three were leaning against the back wall of the training room, observing. I could clearly see that Fandral and Volstagg sympathized with the fledgling warriors, while Sif and Hogun - both precise, technical fighters who trained until they achieved perfection - were more taciturn.

"I will take your lack of self-criticism as a statement of belief that your efforts were flawless, then, shall I?" Rather than pausing again for effect, I produced the sword that I had been holding surreptitiously at my back and cast it, handle first, at the closest student. The shocked gasps of his companions were likely the only reason he lifted his head and managed to close his hands around the grip before it bounced off of his midsection.

"You lack awareness," I said flatly. "If I had thrown that with its point toward you, you would be dead." I paced the length of the room before them, allowing the silence to seep into their minds. When I had done this at least three times, I said to the student holding the sword: "Come at me."

The boy looked skeptical, but I could sense that there was a part of him that had wanted to strike me since I had first begun speaking. However, he simply stated, "You are unarmed."

"Am I? I do not know how I could have forgotten that."

"He still has his magic," said another of his classmates.

"Ah, yes. While that is true," I said, "I am not permitted to use my powers within the training hall. The Allfather has declared this a room of physical combat only. So come at me."

Again, he did not advance.

"Why are you not attacking?" I asked, growing annoyed.

"You are the Prince," the boy replied.

"And you are full of excuses," I goaded him. I leaned forward in a battle-ready posture. "So _**come at me.**_ " This time the command was spoken in a growl that was clearly meant to provoke him.

Finally, he held his weapon upright and charged at me with his full power. I gauged his approach quickly but calmly, and when he thrust the blade at me, I stepped aside and allowed him to continue his momentum until he nearly collided with the wall. He spun back towards me, his face contorted in humiliation and rage. Instead of allowing him to take another stroke with his weapon, I dropped and rocked backwards, my boot connecting with his abdomen and sending him rearwards with enough force that he did hit the wall, his sword clattering to the ground as he impacted.

When he regained his breath, he yelled, "That was not fair! You did not adhere to the rules of combat!"

"Yes, I know. However, you will not be fighting other Asgardians who abide by what you deem to be civil. Your enemies will have no honor." I motioned back to the line of recruits with a quick gesture of my head, and he stormed back to take his place among his companions. "You must always be ready for the unpredictable, for your opponent to break the rules. The only reason all of you are here today is because we lost a great number of the Royal Guard to a group of mercenaries who ambushed a regiment. The Einherjar were outnumbered eight to one, and, although a significant number were slain, they still managed to emerge victorious. How do you suppose they accomplished that?"

There was no reply.

"In battle, you may often be outnumbered, but you must also be cognizant of what is around you - _all_ around you - in order to survive. What if you had been fighting more foes than just myself? I defeated you handily with no weapon at all. It will require more than just a trained hand with a sword to defeat several at once."

I heard a dismissive huff from somewhere among the crowd.

"Do I detect a modicum of doubt?"

"You cannot possibly expect us to fight off multiple enemies simultaneously," said the naysayer in the back row. His arms were crossed and his demeanor sour.

"It is not something _I_ expect. I will not be around for you to impress on the battlefield. Your aptitude will be the difference between death and survival."

"So you are saying that _you_ could engage multiple enemies without the aid of your magic?" This challenge was the most acerbic yet.

I was beginning to feel a little offended, but I did not rise to the belligerent tone of these words. I was confident that what I was about to do would both stifle their faithlessness and silence their taunting.

"I will need three volunteers."

No one stepped forward, although one student - the only female among their number - said, "But what would it prove for you to defeat such poor fighters as ourselves?"

From her position against the back wall, I could see Sif tense and then frown.

"You misunderstand me, my Lady," I answered, my words now dripping with feigned courtesy. "I was talking about the fighters in the back."

An anticipatory hush fell over the onlookers.

"Volstagg - Fandral - Hogun. If you would be so kind?" I had intentionally omitted Sif, as fighting her along with two others would lead to a high probability of humiliation, although I would never directly admit that in her presence (or beyond my own inner monologue). "Gentlemen, if you would each choose a weapon." I gestured toward the wall of armaments to my right.

The trio predictably chose arms with which they naturally excelled: Volstagg a quarterstaff, Hogun a flail mace, and Fandral a longsword. They then formed an orderly line across the floor, their chosen weapons at the ready.

My eyeroll was so surly that it was probably audible.

"No, you clamoring buffoons! I can hardly teach them a lesson on being cognizant of the enemies that are all around you if you do not surround me!" This gibe was intended to anger them so they would not hold back during their offensive. Not wishing to harm the Prince of Asgard was likely a common theme among the soldiers - although, when I began speaking I could usually rend that sense of caution from them quite quickly. As predicted, they hunched over into their battle stances. Out of the three of them, only Fandral's scowl was tinged with a hint of mischief.

I stepped over to the wall of armaments and made my own selections: a shortsword and a dagger with a split blade that was longer than its typical counterparts. I forced my opponents to wait on me while I carefully slipped on my close-fitting leather gloves (in extended or vigorous battle one's perspiration on the hilt of a blade can be an enemy of its own), and then I made my way back coolly to the center of the circle. I brandished the two blades, holding the longer weapon in my dominant hand, and began to make a preparatory survey of my adversaries, turning in a slow circle as I did so. I made note of their initial postures, as this almost always reveals the manner of their first attack.

"Well?" I challenged them. "One of you come at me."

The Warriors Three continued to glance at one another as if they still could not comprehend that this was actually happening. A bit more coaxing appeared to be in order.

I placed my index finger along the center of the dagger's blade and pointed it at Volstagg. "You!" I said. "Do not just stare at me like a simple-minded slab of mutton. Come at me!"

Volstagg did finally advance, although his first few swipes with the staff were tentative. After I deflected them with the full force of my sword, leaving three notches in the hardwood of his weapon, he realized that I was not trying to fool him and then attacked with his usual power and skill. I met his strikes as if this were indeed the start of a battle, feeling out the other man's strength and strategy as if I had not been observing him fight for at least century.

"Now the other two!" I declared to Fandral and Hogun. I began circling my steps somewhat so that I could see their movements from the corners of each eye while continuing to parry the first man's hits. Before Fandral could reach me, I crossed my blades, catching Volstagg's quarterstaff momentarily between them and rotating my lower body so that I could plant a boot in Fandral's stomach, sending him wheeling backwards, completely bewildered. I then dropped to the floor, sliding between the legs of Volstagg's very open stance and avoiding the first sweep of Hogun's flail.

I rose instantly to my feet.

Since Volstagg was still facing away from me, he was not an immediate threat. He was also not agile enough to turn on me with much speed, and so I focused my efforts on Hogun, who was still very much engaged in his attack. Blades are typically not very effective against blunt force weapons, but they were my only means of defense at that moment. I met the chain with my sword, allowing the length of it to wind around the blade, even though I knew that this would mean sacrificing the weapon. I did not resist the momentum that tore it from my hand, instead using the brief pause this action caused to kick straight backwards, once again finding Fandral's midsection as he tried to approach me from the back. This time he went wheeling into the first two rows of the students, who stepped aside quickly enough for him to land on his backside amongst them.

By now, Volstagg had turned back to me and Hogun had untangled my sword from his flail. I dodged three successive swats from the quarterstaff and then rolled left, sweeping Hogun's legs out from under him with a round kick and then rocking backwards to meet the next blow from the staff with the heel of my boot. The force caused Volstagg to stumble back, buying me the time to deal with Hogun, who had found his footing again almost immediately. Still lying with my back on floor, I rotated so that I could knock away the ball of the flail with the sole of my boot and then continued to roll backward until I had my feet under me.

By then, Fandral was approaching once more, his face flush with humiliation. Of course, his embarrassment had been part of my plan all along, as it was always the surest way to goad him into being careless. He swung his sword at me with a strength I nearly misjudged, causing me to leap rearwards just in time to avoid being caught by the blade. I parried the next strike with the dagger I still held. Simultaneously, I could sense that my other two opponents were flanking me on either side and that they were going to attack again in seconds. In a much-practiced move, I switched the grip on my knife so that I could slip Fandral's sword into the channel of the split blade and still maintain enough leverage to wrench the weapon from of his hand. I then took one step back until I was in a precisely anticipated location.

The trajectories of Volstagg's quarterstaff and Hogun's flail converged right where my head was - or, rather where it would have been if I had not dropped quickly to the floor again, leaving the two blows to intercept one another. The staff snapped against the heavy iron weight of the flail, sending Volstagg staggering back. Again, Hogun quickly recovered from his missed strike, retracting the end of the flail and then sending it towards my position on the floor. I rolled left to evade it. Then, when the iron ball was on the ground, I again used the split blade of my dagger, this time to catch the length of chain attached to the handle and twist forcefully, once more relieving an opponent of his weapon. This threw Hogun off-balance, and he landed hard enough on his side that it visibly knocked the wind from his lungs.

Meanwhile, Fandral was still standing somewhat dumbfounded, his hands around the phantom grip of a sword he no longer held. His surprise had caused him to hesitate long enough that I could divest Hogun of the flail and still knock Fandral's legs out from under him, causing him to fall alongside his prone counterpart. Then Volstagg was advancing again, though he seemed unsure of how to go about mounting an attack with two halves of a quarterstaff. I relieved him of his conundrum by catching him with a sideways blow of my foot to his stomach, causing him to drop what remained of his armament. I then hooked the toe of my boot around his ankle with a forward momentum, and the giant of a man landed atop the bodies of the other two fighters, ostensibly ending the trio's offensive.

I stood gracefully enough despite my lack of breath, brushing my clothing back into place and then removing my gloves. Without glancing back over my shoulder, I made for the rear exit of the training hall. "Class dismissed," I said, just as the door was about to close behind me.


	27. Part 6: Ch 1

~~Chapter 1~~

From Death Defended, Though By Men Forsaken

The palace of Valaskjálf was a soft glow on the horizon, the lamps that lined the battlements winking like stars in the distance. Mephisto reclined further back into his chair overlooking what would soon be the field of battle. He nudged the elbow of the man at his side who was stoic, arms crossed and eyes trained on the ground below despite nothing of consequence actually occurring there. The prodded man did not look at him nor acknowledge him in any way. Mephisto then rattled the ice in his empty glass emphatically.

"I could use another drink," he informed the watching figure.

"I am not your servant," Skurge replied coldly.

"For now," Mephisto muttered, his smile just on the edge of threatening. "Pray tell, what else have you to do while we are lingering here, playing nursemaids to the dead? They will not advance on Asgard until your Mistress gives the word, and she is not even present for the time being. The least you could do is to be helpful." The demon's eyes pulsed with light the way they did when his emotions flared. The hint of dread that flashed over Skurge's face was enough to tell him that Hela's lackey was unnerved by him, and so he added a flicker of pointed teeth.

Valiantly, Skurge continued to ignore him.

"All of this is tedious," Mephisto said, knowing that the sorceress would hear him.

"I should have thought the alcohol would at least help a little," Karnilla sneered.

"How can you bear all of this waiting and watching - and whatever else it is that you must be doing to keep yourself occupied in the middle of the least interesting invasion in all of recorded time?"

Karnilla chuckled softly. "You mean producing the energy that is keeping the snow and wind off of us? Yes, I suppose that is a complex enough venture to engage my focus for the time being."

The demon considered the sorceress from the tip of her less-ostentatious-than-usual headpiece to her knee-high, fur-trimmed boots. The fabrics of her outfit were shades of ivory, presumably to act as camouflage when viewed against the external conditions. She was facing Asgard, just as Skurge was.

"Well, at least you have made yourself useful," Mephisto said while leering at the Asgardian. When he extended the glass to Skurge a second time, he was almost certain that he detected a flinch. _Delightful._

"Alright," the Asgardian grumbled as he accepted the offered object.

"Good boy," Mephisto hummed just loud enough for Skurge to hear before he disappeared into the nearby tent. He received no response.

Mephisto's voice transformed from churlish to conspiratory in an instant, dropping into a fiendish whisper. "Incidentally, my dear Karnilla, would you have enough reserves left to speak with me about a pressing matter?"

"I am certain I do not know what you mean," the sorceress replied, although the sarcastic edge betrayed the falsehood in her words.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Mephisto murmured. "If you did, it could get you into a great deal of trouble with your superior." This barb was intended to rile Karnilla, and it deftly hit its mark.

"Hela does not control me, if that is what you are implying," the sorceress shot back, arms folded and eyes dark. She continued with a more even tone, "That having been said, I certainly do not wish to draw her ire." A pause followed. "And yet it would be quite a shame if something would happen to agitate her."

"Wouldn't it, though?" Mephisto added with a grin. He leaned back, his weight balanced elegantly upon the bend of one elbow. From behind his hand he whispered, "Confidentially, I may know just the thing."

Karnilla's eyes were still trained on the landscape of Asgard before her. "Does this 'thing' involve a certain God of Mischief?" she asked.

"Hela allowed us to pursue our own course of action where Loki was concerned. I am simply proposing that we do so."

"Oh?" Karnilla said, tilting her head just slightly as if to hear him better. "And why is that?"  
"Because I don't want to see him extinguished simply because Hela has no specific use for him. For lack of a more fitting word, he _amuses_ me."

Karnilla crooked the corner of her mouth just slightly and fought back a chuckle at this comment. "You know, for all the irritation he has caused me, I have to agree. Although, I doubt I could allow him to come away completely unscathed."

"But you would be amenable to a plan?" Mephisto confirmed.

Karnilla nodded.

"Splendid, because I happen to have a plot already half-concocted."

At that moment, Skurge returned with Mephisto's drink in hand.

"But, first," the demon said, shifting the topic of conversation so that Hela's warden could not help but know that they had been discussing some scheme or other but would have no inkling as to what it might have been, "I will need to take leave of you this evening in order to focus on another matter." He took a sip of his fresh beverage and then sighed with relish.

"Whatever for?" Karnilla asked, sounding only half-interested, although she was likely not interested in the least.

"More pressing than the invasion of Asgard?" Skurge said.

"Yes, my boy," Mephisto replied, and Skurge frowned at the epithet. "Even more pressing than watching the snow pile up in the fields beyond, while the dead stand lifelessly in rows, accomplishing nothing." There was no mistaking the derisive tone. "If you must know, I am meeting up with an old acquaintance of mine. He will be positively stunned to see me," Mephisto purred, flashing a hint of pointed teeth. "Although, I doubt he will be the least bit pleased."

***.**.**

"How in the name of Hel did he end up here, anyway?" Loki growled as the elevator opened up to the ground floor.

"You mean Banner?" Thor said. He was searching the immediate area for anything he might use as a weapon, considering that he had been divested of them in the arena. That was a little aggravating, actually, but he could take up the matter with his brother at a later time. "I could not say. It was Karnilla who told me that he was being held on Sakaar."

Noticing Thor's frustration, Loki led him off to the left, winding through a corridor and then around a bend that opened into the Petitioner's Hall. "If you need weapons, brother, then take whatever you desire. The Grandmaster's hospitality is rife during the Grand Tournament." This statement held a note of mischievous glee, and they shared a knowing smile between them.

"So," Thor said, "is there any chance that you could tell me what we are about to confront?" He noted that Loki was choosing larger blades than he normally wielded, and he even absently tossed Thor a spear with a long, broad head, suitable for skewering something very large indeed.

"A wolf," Loki stated. "Huge, menacing - absolutely relentless." The room shook again with the impact of some action by the pursuer in question. "His name is Fenrir, and the Grandmaster treats him more like a weapon than a pet."

"You were able to impersonate one of the Grandmaster's champions so I assume that you have some familiarity with him." Thor detected a slight recoil when he mentioned the matter of Loki's portrayal of Abyss. Again, determining the exact reason for this would have to wait. "Is there any hope that you could reason with him? Perhaps persuade him to call off the beast? Having him in pursuit of me while I am also trying to contain the Hulk will make a rescue nearly impossible."

"Fenrir is not pursuing you," Loki said flatly. He was assessing a wall full of chains and rope, finally setting on a well-crafted tether of metal, thin but likely very strong, with an equally durable clasp at its end.

Thor was surprised at this revelation, but he did not prod his brother any further for the reasons why. Now was the time for battle, and, as had been true hundreds of times in their lives, they were prepared to put aside all questions and animosity until the fighting was complete.

They both knew the path back to the arena, and they walked it in silence. This had always been their ritual when going into combat: fighting was as cerebral an act as it was physical, and anything that could be said between them would be of no consequence if one of them fell in battle. In their dozen or so centuries at each other's side, they had said everything that needed to be said a thousand times over.

Well, they probably had.

The pair halted at the entrance to the stadium, which was protected by a grand portcullis. Through its bars, the Asgardians could see the chaos that was erupting on the battleground before them: the Hulk, his wounds still fresh from the previous match, had been loosed again. He moved sluggishly, his muscles fatigued from fending off so many adversaries already that day, and a shimmer of sweat glinted heavily on his brow. A battalion of Sakaaran guards had him cornered directly underneath the Grandmaster's private box, and they were prodding him with spears, leaving superficial cuts that were enough to anger the beast into growling and roaring without causing him any real harm. It was an obvious attempt to lure the brothers back into the fray, which meant that Gast had known far more than he had been letting on. More than likely, he had been aware of Thor's reasons for journeying to Sakaar from the beginning.

"Are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?" Loki said. His hand was twitching expectantly as he repeatedly altered his grip around the handle of his sword.

Thor nodded. "Are you certain that you want to follow me?"

"No," said Loki, "but when has that ever stopped me?" He smirked.

"When, indeed?" Thor replied, returning the gesture. Though fiercely unpredictable, Thor knew there was no one other than Loki that he would rather have at his side right now. They were both formidable warriors in their own right, but together . . .

Together they were unbeatable.

"So what is our plan?"

"I will handle Banner," Thor said. "He has been weakened enough that I should be able to contain him."

"And I?"

"You will manage everyone else."

Loki's expression was resigned. "That sounds equitable."

It was not equitable, of course, but Thor would be more than occupied with trying to wrangle the Hulk while also keeping the beast from harm. Loki would have to fend off most of the others, distracting them just long enough so that Thor could achieve his aim. Historically, the elder sibling had always devised the strategy in combat, and Loki had followed his constructs unflinchingly, almost as though he was determined to accomplish whatever improbable tasks Thor laid out for him, the wilder the better. Peculiar as it was to admit, having Loki slotted beside him once again was like feeling a limb returned to where it had once been removed.

"We will need to be swift, before the wolf arrives," Thor instructed.

"Then we had best get on with it, brother." Loki's breath had quickened, no doubt driven by a rush of adrenaline.

Thor used the axe in his right hand to cleave the chain that anchored the counterweight of the portcullis, and the gate lifted with a resounding thud.

The pair rushed forward, Loki moving quickly off to the left to flank the Sakaarans and Thor bellowing as loudly as he could to draw their attention away from the Hulk. As soon as the members of the mob began to turn their backs on him, the Hulk began to attack them in return, grabbing the two nearest enemies with his enormous hands and squeezing them until their spines audibly snapped. This act of aggression seemed to reinvigorate the beast, and he echoed Thor's cry with a force that shook the arena.

By now, Loki was in the midst of his attack on the left flank. He called out to Thor, "Quickly! That ruckus is sure to draw the wolf!"

Thor carved his way through the throng of Sakaarans with his axe and broadsword until he was standing at the feet of the Hulk himself. Once there, an uneasy standoff ensued, wherein the larger being gazed down at Thor with clenched teeth but did not immediately attack. Rather, he sized up the blond stranger with a sliver of recognition, most likely born from their shared time in the Combatants' cells, sizing one another up through the veil of iron bars.

The turmoil of Loki's confrontations with the remaining guards was audible around them, and then suddenly ceased. His fierce sibling had made quick work of the ten or so adversaries that had been left to him, and they lay strewn at his feet. Hulk's eyes flitted over to where Loki stood, ringed by his erstwhile foes, and, for the briefest of instants, the creature's eyes seemed to crackle with some faint recognition of him, as well. However, the moment was short lived, and the fire in Hulk's gaze began to return once more.

"Why are you hesitating?" Loki scolded him from a distance. "You said you could contain him!"

The sound of all the gates to the arena rising at once resounded across the battlefield and urged Thor into action. An influx of about thirty warriors flooded the space around them, and he immediately surmised from their appearances that they were fellow Combatants, some of which still bore wounds from their previous showdowns that day. However, there was a familiar, enraged glint to their eyes that unsettled Thor. He had seen its like a dozen times in the face of the Hulk after he had been spurred to wrath by whatever substance their guards regularly injected into him.

The first of their new adversaries encountered Loki first, and he raised a sword just in time to counter the towering Kree's warhammer. Rather than deflecting the blow as he typically would and then launching a counteroffensive, Loki remained in his parrying position, struggling beneath the force of his opponent's strike.

Quickly realizing the predicament, Thor tried to advise him. "They are drugged!" He called out. "It makes them enraged!"

"Superb," Loki grumbled through the strain. "Could we hurry this along, then?" He produced a dagger from beneath the folds of his clothing and drove it into the midsection of his enemy, distracting him just long enough for Loki to drop him with a counterstroke from his sword. "We will not last long against a hoard of crazed monsters!" Another Combatant was on Loki immediately - and then another. By the now the mob was nearly upon Thor, as well, and the time to act or be brutally murdered was definitely upon them.

To Thor's surprise, it was the Hulk who moved first, advancing on the line with a roar so mighty that it rattled the Asgardian's chest. He used his enormous hands to clear a path, gripping a nearby Kronan and heaving him towards Loki's position. Thor gasped, thinking that the beast intended to strike his brother, but, instead, the warrior's body knocked out one of Loki's adversaries, leaving him with a single enemy to manage. As soon as he was able to dispatch his foe (with a great deal more difficulty than usual), he strode breathlessly over to Thor, who was just finishing off two attackers of his own. They both watched as the green behemoth swept Combatants out of his path, breaking their bones against the neighboring walls and taking fresh wounds from their weapons with almost no regard for the pain he must be suffering.

"Is he on our side, then?" Loki inquired.

"I honestly have no idea," Thor replied. He watched as his brother detached the fine chain from the Grandmaster's weapons cache from his waist and worked to fashion some type of enormous loop with it.

"I am reluctant to ask, but why the noose?"

"Oh, the noose is for him." Loki motioned to the far edge of the arena, where an enormous wolf had appeared. "I advised you not to dawdle."

The animal was staring them down, its huge haunches tensed to strike, and a trail of bloody spittle trailed over one side of his jaw. "Well, that is unsettling," Thor said. He could see that Loki's shoulders were taut, but he showed no other outward signs of tension. "Can I assist?"

"You could hoist me," Loki answered calmly. "But, thereafter, you need to focus on the Hulk. I would like to take leave of this loathsome planet as soon as possible."

Thor nodded in agreement.

From across the stadium, they heard the low, threatening growl of their canine adversary begin to deepen, and the animal's haunches retracted in anticipation of its attack. As it shot toward them, covering half the length of the arena in just a dozen strides, Thor asked, "So, just like in the Battle of Harokin?"

"Yes, although preferably with more accuracy," Loki answered with a scoff.

"You are hardly making a persuasive case for that," Thor jested. This pointed back-and-forth was so nostalgic that Thor could feel the blood singing in his veins in spite of his physical and emotional exhaustion. He cupped his hands together at knee height, creating a platform onto which Loki could step.

"Just aim for the enormous, shaggy blur," Loki said, "and try not to launch me into its jaws, please." He planted one boot into the cradle of Thor's hands. "Wait for my cue," he instructed.

The creature was still heading for their position at full speed, but when it came within a few yards of them, a bright light exploded in its path, bringing the wolf to a sudden halt and temporarily blinding it. Loki's magic, no doubt.

"Now!"

With a silent prayer on his lips, Thor heaved his brother up and backwards, allowing Loki adequate time to flip backwards so that he landed facing the front of the animal, awkwardly straddling the hill of fur that ringed its neck just behind its ears. He quickly secured himself by correcting his posture and contracting his thighs, although this action only allowed him a split second to look self-satisfied before the wolf regained control and began to shudder violently. Loki nearly lost his grip during the first jolt, sliding backwards a body length, barely catching a hand in the animal's pelt to prevent being unseated entirely. Loki then produced a dagger in his other hand, driving it into the wolf's hide to further anchor himself. Naturally, this action caused Fenrir to shake more fiercely and then howl with pain and frustration.

Meanwhile, Thor was faced with several foes who had managed to escape the wrath of the Hulk, along with a fresh line of Sakaarans from the outer gates. He engaged the first few handily, initially concentrating on an overpowered Combatant and then dispatching the less powerful natives. However, the next two adversaries - another Kree and a crazed Centaurian - were far more troublesome. Each of them carried a long spear and were using it to jab at him. Thor was using all of his concentration and skill to parry their strokes, and, since their power was magnified by the drug that was coursing through them, repelling them was taking longer than usual. Concentration was paramount, so of course this was the moment when he heard the voice from above him:

"This is a spectacular effort, but it will all be useless, I fear!" The Grandmaster raised his voice to the point of strain in order to be heard in the expansive stadium. "I have an innumerable amount of fighters at my disposal, and you cannot hope to best them all! You have already fought one battle today, Prince of Asgard! You must be exhausted! Come up to where I sit, and we can resolve this like civilized men!"

Thor was not about to trust this megalomaniac, but these words were enough to invade his thoughts just long enough for an enemy to graze him with its weapon. Incited by this insult to his fighting prowess, the Asgardian mustered a fresh assault on his attackers, pushing them back and felling them within a matter of minutes. After he had finished them, Thor turned back to where he had heard the Grandmaster's voice in the stands. His muscles throbbed from the overexertion, and he was cloaked in a thick film of sweat, rivulets of which crept between the layers of his armor. It was no falsehood to say that he was drained. From somewhere behind him, he could still hear Loki grappling with Fenrir, as well as the Hulk systematically shattering his enemies against any available surface. More troubling, he sensed that another group of Combatants were approaching him from the rear, and yet Thor was determined that the Grandmaster would hear his words of reproach before the fighting resumed.

"Hear me, Grandmaster!" Thor strode defiantly towards the voice, his axe held threateningly in his dominant hand. When he caught sight of their captor, however, the next syllable died on his lips.

Gast was standing imperiously above him, one arm hanging languidly at his side and the other hooked around Brunnhilde's throat, where a long-bladed knife rested against the bulge of a main artery. "No - _you_ hear _me_ ," he replied. His words had an ominous calm about them. "I am not daunted by your posturing or your threats, Odinson."

Struck dumb by the sight of the most powerful warrior in all of Asgard being held precariously in the grip of such an unassuming figure, Thor could not muster the will to protest. He could no longer hear the approach of his assailants, and so he guessed that they, too, were under the thrall of the Grandmaster.

"I am finished with watching this little drama play out on the battlefield. I have been here for hours, and, frankly, all of this conflict is beginning to bore me. I have grown weary of watching a foreign Prince overcome every enemy that I can produce for him. I am also sick to _death,_ " he said through clenched teeth, "of your brother's constant tricks and nonsense. He has insulted me deeply by impersonating one of my favored champions, particularly so soon after his last affront. Therefore, if you want to save this woman's life, you will do as I have requested and come to me to initiate negotiations. _Now._ " The last word was anything but a request. The Grandmaster's patience was obviously at an end.

Thor's resistance faltered, but he dangled his weapons at his sides without dropping them entirely. There was no other course of action but to obey now that Valkyrie's life was on the line. He desperately wished that Loki was at his side; despite Gast's clear distaste for his brother at the moment, verbal negotiation was one of his primary strengths.

When Thor's wish was suddenly answered, however, it was not exactly in the way he had envisioned.

 _And that brings me up to where I was when I stopped. I have not tried to write anything further so I do not know if the muse is with me. Here's hoping._

 _Praxidicae_


	28. Part 6: Ch 2

I know it has been a reeeallly long time, but I finally found the momentum to work on this story again. It honestly has taken me months after I started writing this latest chapter before I finally felt like I was in some sort of a groove again. I will still be an infrequent updater, as that is just in my nature. Thank you to all of those who have stuck with this tale, particularly those who have given me such beautiful words of encouragement.

Praxidicae~~Chapter 2~~

All Arrayed for Doom

When Hela finally made her entrance, it was in a dramatic fashion. It started as a faint whisper of wingbeats above Karnilla's sheltering dome of magic, and, as the sound grew nearer, eddies of snow began to curl within the howling wind above. Then a shadow descended swiftly towards the demarcation between the storm and the calm beneath it, and Karnilla had to withdraw her spell with haste in order for Hela to pass through unhindered. The ambient gusts increased briefly both because of the withdrawal of Karnilla's protective shield and the movement of the enormous wings of the beast upon which Hela was seated. As the dragon glided to the ground below, its wide snout came to lay alongside Skurge, who then approached the creature and offered his hand to assist his mistress from her seat.

As Hela advanced towards the loose arrangement of tents serving as their headquarters, indistinct figures began to emerge from the shadows, their movements so languid that they appeared to be a fog dragged along in her wake. Hela's Army of the Dead had been awakened by the presence of her magic, and they were seeking her out blindly in the semi-darkness. They wore rags covered in unkept armor, and their limbs and faces had patches where there was no skin; in fact, some had gaping wounds in their torsos so horrific that the landscape behind them was visible where their flesh should have been. These shades had once been warriors, although their ends had been less than noble, devoid of the glorious death in the midst of battle that the Aesir craved. These souls seemed to have suffered a fate beyond that of the average occupant of Hel and were somehow losing their eternal forms to a rot that eroded the spirit as well as the body.

Karnilla straightened as Hela came near She was determined to be seen as a force in this offensive, even alongside her supremely powerful ally, and she extended her chin as a mild form of defiance. The sorceress wanted to make a statement about having been kept waiting, but, despite her unusual display of nerve, she still did not dare to anger the goddess.

"I see that our armies are nearly complete," Hela said, her voice dripping with pride.

Karnilla looked Hela over with curiosity. She had clearly dressed for the occasion. Her floor-length gown was crafted from form-fitting leather, set off by an overwrap of the same material but trimmed in silver fur. She wore gloves past the elbow, also leather, with openings that allowed her lacquered and sharply pointed nails to protrude through the ends. Her headpiece was similarly dark, but the ends of the projected arms were dappled with sparkling gems, which caused her to blend briefly into the star-dusted sky before the snow and winds again obliterated the view above. Her face was a smooth mask of resolve, revealing nothing.

"Then we advance tonight?" Karnilla said hopefully. These hours and hours of inaction had worn her patience beyond its limits.

"Perhaps," replied Hela. The words hung in the air for a few beats while Karnilla waited for a response. None was forthcoming.

"So why do we delay?" the sorceress implored.

Hela swung her eyes swiftly over to Karnilla, who immediately wished that Mephisto were present so that she did not have to bear the full weight of Hela's attention. Fortunately, the goddess was in an unusual temper, and she did not show any irritability. "I am waiting for a few last minute additions to our forces, to ensure that this will be a short conflict." Hela perched herself upon the chair that Mephisto had previously occupied. "I despise lengthy battles."

A cry split the air above, and Hela sat up instantly. She was unable to disguise the astonishment on her face.

"And what are your feelings regarding an ambush?" Karnilla asked.

Numerous impacts connected with the dome in a line above their heads, causing the women to crouch out of instinct. The sound of Skurge drawing his heavy axe soon followed. Looking upwards, they could see beings wheeling above the dome, and the beating of their powerful wings cleared the snow enough to reveal details of their forms: they were Valkyries, their weapons drawn and their faces pinched in resolve. They cried out in unison, and their howls created a wave of sound that shook the perimeter. Though Hela and the others were well-shielded from their offensive, the Valkyries' calls were a clear invitation for them to come out to the battlefield - a proposal that only a fool would accept.

***.**.***

"The first wave has deployed, your Excellency," Ròta said.

Watching from the ramparts, the Lady Sif grasped the upper edge of the wall with an iron hold. Her leather gloves creaked from the increasing torsion of her grip against the bare stone, allowing her to feel the bitter cold of its surface in spite of the material, and she watched as the group of valkyrie warriors that she had just dispatched faded into the waves of wind and snow. This offensive was about the most reckless action for which she could ever remember being directly responsible. Considering her pass exploits with the princes of Asgard, this statement was bold indeed.

It had been Ròta who had first proposed a surprise attack. The valkyries had seen countless times how the sweeping approach of a number of their kind-along with their piercing voices-could break the enemy's spirit. It had been one of a dozen strategies that the generals of Asgard had brought to Sif's attention once they had sensed attack was imminent, and she had listened to each one with stone-faced determination. The military leaders around her looked to one another worriedly as the moments dragged on without a response from their Regent.

Without warning, Sif stood and coldly stated: "Ròta, send scouts to determine Hela's position. The rest of you, prepare your warriors for battle." She was not looking to any of her generals for advice or approval. "We are advancing on the enemy as soon as possible."

Having finally come to a firm decision, Sif waved her commanders away and said no more. Yet, however silent she seemed on the exterior, her mind was screaming. It was an unwelcome burden to be the one to send souls to war-to blood and sweat and death. Having served Asgard as a soldier for centuries, she was well aware of the gravity of what she had done, as well as the necessity to be forthright and unemotional when delivering her decree. Yet this had not made the weight in her gut any less agonizing. When she gave her orders to the leaders of each battalion, she knew as her eyes passed over the lines of soldiers before her that she was seeing many of them for the last time.

The last regiment she visited was that of the valkyries, though she felt more out of sorts among these female fighters than she had among the male-dominated ranks of Asgard's main armies. These women were dressed proudly in battle armour that was polished until even the dim light of the command tower would be reflected in its sheen. They were fearless. For Asgardians this was never completely true-for Midgardians, even less so-but these women did not dread suffering or even death. They likewise did not carry the doubt and the guilt over being the impetus for all the loss that was to come.

Sif quickly laid out her instructions for Ròta and then remained in the tower to fulfill her duties as Asgard's interim ruler. As the forces departed through the gates, they were instantly consumed within the veil of snow. Fortuitously, the wind had diminished somewhat over the last day, but the overall conditions were still enough to make fighting a war extremely unfavorable. It also provided their enemies a natural advantage, for while the dead do not feel the cold, Asgardians- though resistant to its effects-were bound to be hampered by such extreme circumstances. The sharp eyes of the Valkyrie could not compensate for the effect the weather would have on their ground forces.

This was madness. Every bit of it.

Sif briefly brought her hands to her head when no one was observing her, willing the frustration to seep out of her skull from between her fingers. As fruitless as this action was, it did help to steady her for the moment. Her thoughts drifted to Thor and his fate on some other realm in another part of the universe - a domain governed by a despotic madman from the way Loki had spoken of him. Thor should have been the one directing the battle from this height. His brow would be clouded with the gravity of his decisions, but his hands would be steady. He was always so resolute, no matter how dire the prospects. He would be here if it were not for Loki and his cryptic directives toward his sentimental brother, sending him off to chase who knows what deranged notion that would eventually lead Thor to him. Nor would she be standing here bearing the mantle of responsibility for thousands of lives were it not for Loki's manipulations.

As was typical, all the carefully woven threads of trouble traced back to Loki.

Loki, who was on the other side of the universe at this moment, probably gambling the lives of both himself and his brother on some ludicrously perilous scheme that would likely succeed. It was no wonder that she often wanted to skewer him on the end of her sword like a juicy piece of mutton from the spit at the Midsummer Feast. If Loki would only relinquish Thor's attention for a fleeting moment, would stop enthralling his brother with his mellifluous ploys and whispering distractions to him with his devious smile. Perhaps, then she could be the one to have Thor's confidence - he would look upon her as he did that snake of a brother in whom he inexplicably believed.

Sif's thoughts were interrupted by a rushing wall of air as the second wave of valkyries swept down from the landing above her, and she caught the failing light glinting off the plating of their armor as they banked away from the tower. At the same moment, the Einherjar began their advance. Their purpose was to maintain a perimeter some distance from the city and to prevent even a single enemy from breaking their ranks. An improbable task, to be sure, considering how the howling gales would keep them from either hearing or seeing an approaching foe until it was practically upon them.

This was truly to be the end of the world, Sif conceded.

***.**.***

The beast was certainly formidable, and I struggled to keep my grip upon his hide as he tried to unseat me. Eventually, I had no option but to drive my dagger into his back in order to keep my grip upon him. After his fierce objection to this strategy subsided, the creature gave me a moment's reprieve while he regained his breath. That was when I caught sight of what was transpiring in the Grandmaster's private box: Brunnhilde with the blade resting against the most vulnerable line of her throat. I felt a sudden flush travel throughout my body, my blood coursing and filling all the fine vessels of my face and hands. I locked my jaw and set my eyes upon my target, every muscle in my body tensing with a readiness for unbridled war. It was like a stray spark had lit a roaring fire within me, and I responded in a manner that was unlike me to say the least: a furious blend of raw emotion without forethought.

I cast a hasty replica of myself in the seats of the arena above, a rendering that was not true to life but convincing enough to make the animal beneath me believe that I was somehow mocking him from the stands. As an enraged Fenrir charged my false form, I withdrew the blade from his back and allowed the momentum of the animal's leap to carry me with him up to the Grandmaster's position. This entire sequence happened so quickly that I barely registered passing within a hand's breadth of my brother, his mouth hanging slack with disbelief.

The wolf landed badly, his forelegs becoming tangled in the seats and bringing him crashing across the stands. The bodies of Sakaaran guards were flung aside as easily as the remains of the furniture as it careened through the seating area. Gast was so taken aback by this sudden offensive by his own ally that he loosened his grip on Brunnhilde, giving her the opening she needed to wrench herself from his grasp and take flight to avoid the onslaught of the creature.

I also landed poorly, mainly owing to the impetuousness of my actions. I was launched practically at the feet of the Grandmaster, who had quickly recovered from his distraction and was looming over me as I gasped for breath. He gave no outward evidence of stress or emotion as he attacked, the tendrils of his power striking me full on before I could mount a defense. The impact felt like a wave of heat across my chest, a line of scorching agony travelling with it along the surface of my skin and then rippling outwards, directing a blistering pain throughout my body. It was inescapable anguish, the naked wrath of an Elder of the Universe unleashed upon my vulnerable form, even as I impulsively began to repel it with magic of my own. Any smug pretense that I had entertained about being powerful in regards to other beings in the universe was quickly seared out of me as I experienced the Grandmaster's superior strength.

Fortunately for me, the victory does not always fall to the mighty.

Unable to deflect the force that was thrumming through my body, I instead employed a technique that I had used on Karnilla many years before, a trick that had stunned my mentor as much mentally as it did physically: I channeled it, carrying the burst of power that he had cast at me and then directing it back towards him. The first time I used this skill it was entirely unintentional, a reflex not unlike jerking a hand away from a hot object in a blind instinct to protect oneself. The Grandmaster, however, was exponentially more powerful than Karnilla so, while my first time channeling had been draining for me, this instance left me completely incapacitated.

The impact of the blow did affect Gast enough that I was able to catch my breath, even if the remainder of my body was still unresponsive. I then waited for the next offensive to fall, still powerless to defend myself. I was surprisingly calm in those few moments, as accepting of my end as I was likely ever to be, having died for the sake of someone I - well, deeply cared for, I suppose. I lay there in anticipation of the fatal strike, the final moments of my life suspended before me like stars winking out in succession near the cusp of dawn.

But the blow never fell.

When I looked over at the Grandmaster, he was in a stunned posture, his body physically recoiling from me. While I struggled to make sense of this, my muscles began to regain some sensation despite my limbs remained largely obtunded. This was truly unfortunate, because when I finally determined why Gast had not killed me, it became agony not to be able to laugh about it.

He thought that it was my magic that I had used against him. Through an instinctive act of self-preservation, I had duped him into believing that my powers at least equalled his own.

I let my neck roll to the side and my head limply followed. From this angle, I could see that Thor remained in a similarly bewildered state after witnessing the energy that I had seemingly unleashed. Little did he know that I was mortally weakened and that my true magic was far inferior to that of the Grandmaster, regardless of appearances. The veracity of this became clearer when I felt the row of massive teeth piercing the flesh of my thigh, and I was unable to react with more than a dazed howl. I was completely at the mercy of the wolf, who had both found his footing and also had not quite forgiven me for driving a knife into his flesh. He then began thrashing me about with snarling abandon, striking my upper body repeatedly against whatever solid surface was within reach. All I could do was groan in dissent against what was happening to my lifeless body.

Two things happened almost simultaneously then: the mob of Combatants that had surrounded Thor began to move in, and a shadow descended out of the sky, preceded by a powerful wail that split the air above. A force collided with my assailant, and the impact transferred from the body of the beast to my own. As it dropped me from its jaws in order to face the threat, I found myself compressed between the wolf and a row of seating. I could hear Brunnhilde's grunts as she landed blows on the wolf with her fists and boots, but from my angle I could not yet see why she was not attacking him with her sword. It was only when the animal writhed in pain and pushed me over to a clearer vantage point that I could see that her sword had been wrested from her by Caeira, who had used the valkyrie's distracted state to ambush her. Between strikes, Hilde was dodging thrusts from Caeira's weapon, which then pierced the flesh of the wolf. Between the physical blows from Brunnhilde and the unintentional wounds from Caiera, Fenrir was quickly losing the battle.

I dragged myself indolently onto the seats with one arm until I could see the floor of the arena. I was able to twist my neck just enough to see that Gast no longer occupied the space in which he had stood, but I could not determine if he was still nearby. My armor had been pierced in a line around my torso that matched the shape of Fenrir's jaws, leading from my left shoulder and then back around through my right shin and left ankle. Each puncture point bled profusely, particularly the ones that had been broadened by the force his thrashing. By the time I could move enough to help myself, I realized, I would likely have bled to death.

I could see my brother below us, fending off his adversaries with the aid of the Hulk. Thor wrested spears from several Sakaarans and hurled them with incredible force toward the wall of the arena just beneath us. They struck with enough power to pierce the stone veneer and plant themselves there, landing in a cascading pattern that I could not fully discern from my vantage point. He then made a headlong rush for them, briefly disappearing from my site beneath the lip of the parapet and then emerging from over the edge to stand nearly at my side. He must have used them as makeshift steps, I surmised, ascending from one to another in order to climb the barrier. Impressive, I had to admit. I did not have the time to fully appreciate the brilliance of the move, however, as I had caught sight of the edge of the Grandmaster's robe in my peripheral vision, his shadow falling on me only briefly before Thor inserted himself between us.

Historically, whenever Thor had asserted his protective elder brother side in my defense, I had been thoroughly perturbed. At this particular moment, however, I could not have been more thankful. That notion lasted only briefly as I realized that my well-meaning sibling was no match for the power of the Grandmaster. He would be immediately subdued, if not killed, depending on his assailant's intentions.

"At first, I thought you had bested me, but I see now that you were only capable of a single attack." Gast was looking into Thor's vengeful gaze but was obviously addressing me. "Tell, me, Loki," he teased, "Do you think this one could weather my assault as you did? Or, rather, do you think that it would burn him to ash?"

Although Thor did not avert his eyes from the Grandmaster's challenge, my answer to Gast's inquiry would have been emphatically the latter. Plus, I was in no condition to be of aid to my brother; I could feel my physical strength incrementally returning, only to be drained from me again through my drastic loss of blood. My helplessness was infuriating.

"No matter," Gast continued. "You will succumb to your wounds all too soon. In a matter of moments, you will lose consciousness. In a few more, you will go into shock, and your organs will begin to fail, one after the other." His eyes flicked briefly down to me before meeting Thor's again, a ferocious smile spreading across his features. "Then, my clever little prince, you will die." The smile widened, displaying the Grandmaster's perfectly polished teeth. "On a cold stone floor, soaked in your own blood. A rather ignominious end, I'm afraid, " he said, as if I had ever believed that it would be anything else.


	29. Part 6: Ch 3

~~Chapter 3~~

All Our Wounds and All Our Powers

Thor was not the least bit convinced that he could bear the strength of the Grandmaster's magic, but he was determined that he and Loki would not die without one Hel of a struggle. He watched for a moment of protracted silence as his brother grew paler and eventually lost consciousness, just as Gast had predicted he would. Then Thor hunched over into a battle stance.

"You have been something of a nuisance yourself, you know that." Gast stepped forward, and Thor almost moved back out of instinct. "I have thrown nearly everything I have at you, and yet you will not die. It is rudely obstinate of you." The Grandmaster's eyes were glowing faintly as the energy gathered within him. He took another step forward, and this time Thor retreated in kind.

"Your brother has been a complication of his own," Gast continued. "Do you know he had the nerve to cheat me out of one of my most prized possessions in a game of chance and then disappear before I had the opportunity to win it back? Then he has the gall to show up here again, wheedling me with his lies and his false promises, so that he could try to steal you back, as well?"

This comment caused Thor to tighten the grip on his axe. "I am not your property, Grandmaster. Loki and his companion were only trying to release me from my bondage after you drugged and imprisoned me."

"So it would seem," Gast chuckled. "And, yet, their efforts have been of no consequence. Loki has managed to escape my wrath only to succumb to his wounds."

As if to defy the Grandmaster's words, Loki parted his pale lips and let out a moan that was little more than a sigh. Thor stole a quick glance at his brother, who was surrounded by a gradually slackening flow of blood, a sign that he was likely very near death. The urgency of his situation caused Thor to hold tighter still to his weapon, and the result was unexpected: he could feel an enormous surge of energy through his bicep that traveled downward, reinforcing his grip. He felt invigorated, stronger than he had ever been. Yet after a day in the arena and all that came after, this simply could not be possible.

"In a way," continued the Grandmaster, "he has settled his debt to me. His life may not be of equal value to what he has stolen, but it is an acceptable trade, I suppose." He took another threatening step forward.

This time, Thor did not step back..

Valkyrie landed nearby, still covered in a fair amount of the blood from the vanquished wolf. The tip of one of her wings brushed his cheek as she folded them inward and dropped immediately to her knees at Loki's side.

"So, Prince of Asgard," Gast taunted, "This is your last chance to avoid having to face me in battle. I would strongly advise that you take it." His eyes were beginning to burn with the intensity that was escalating inside of him.

Thor could feel a corresponding force rising within himself, a subconscious challenge to the inevitable attack. With each second that passed, he sensed an intensification of his might, and he could feel energy prickling each fiber of muscle in his arms and chest. Accompanying this surge was a growing rage, a sense that he was going to take on the Grandmaster and prevail. It was inevitable. He would expend his vengeance upon this foul villain - for himself, for Banner, and for the dozens of souls this despot had sent to their deaths for his amusement.

For Loki.

In that moment, Thor felt his brother's unspoken blessing: ' _Destroy him'._ He raised the handle of his axe to meet the Grandmaster's onslaught, and, unbelievably, he not only met it, but he held his ground.

The Grandmaster escalated his attack, and the shock of it pushed the Asgardian back until he had to dig in his heels with all of his remaining power in order to hold steady. Yet, miraculously, he did.

Gast's brow creased with hatred, and he sent forth another wave of magic. Still, Thor did not yield.

As Thor was facing off with the Grandmaster, Valkyrie was cradling the head of her dying prince. "Listen to me - Loki!" She rocked his head side to side in an effort to rouse him. "We have to go. I need you to get up!" When she received no response, she grabbed his lapels and shook him violently. "Please, Loki!" When she removed her hands from his jacket, she realized that they were smeared with his blood. She pressed the palm of her hands flat against his chest where the bleeding seemed most profuse.

"Pssssst!"

Out of instinct, Valkyrie reeled toward the sound, her sword expertly back in her grasp.

"Hey, hey - there's no need to bring weapons into this. I'm only trying to help." These words were little more than a murmur.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

A hooded figure crept out just beyond the edge of the entryway. "Angmo of Sakaar. I am a - _friend_ of Thor's."

The newcomer did indeed have the bearing and coloration of a native, but his hesitation before he declared himself a friend deserved some scrutiny. He crept slowly towards them, hunching over to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but before he was within reach of them, Valkyrie brandished her blade more prominently, the broad, sharpened edge hovering threateningly near the tip of his nose.

"Anyone can claim to be anyone's ally. Why should I trust you?"

"Because he needs me." Angmo motioned to Loki who was bleeding and motionless beneath her.

"What aid can you offer him?" she answered, the crook of her eyebrow delineating her skepticism.

"I used to be a healer. I administered aid to the Combatants after their bouts."

There was no time to delve any deeper into his claim, judging by the greying of Loki's skin. If he intended her friend any harm, there was hardly any more that could be done to him at this point.

She lowered her sword.

Angmo quickly slid into a kneeling position at Loki's side. "Keep your hands pressed tightly where they were. It might still do some good." He peeled back the principal layer of Loki's coat, though the drying blood clinging to the fabric and made it more difficult. Angmo's eyes flickered over to what was unfolding between Thor and the Grandmaster mere steps away, and he flinched at the burst of energy that resulted from their violent contact. "We have to get him out of here." As his hands hovered over the Asgardian, Valkyrie could see that they were trembling. "I will do enough now that we can mobilize him a little, but as soon as he is even the least bit conscious, we will need to move."

Angmo splayed his fingers and laid them just above hers. His features were unnaturally still as he held them there; he did not even appear to breathe. Valkyrie continued to hear the sounds of the clash between Thor and the Grandmaster, and she was nearly grazed by an occasional spark. Like the Sakaaran, she was a little unnerved herself at being so close to the battle. Angmo's meditations seemed to drag on endlessly in light of the peril that lurked adjacent to them, and when Loki did regain motion and consciousness, the Sakaaran sat numbly for several moments, as if all of his energy had been drained away.

"Angmo!" Valkyrie nudged him ungently. "Hey! Strange little Sakaaran man!"

Angmo moaned and brought his hands to his head.

"Are you okay? You said we need to move!"

"Just as . . . stubborn . . . and powerful . . . as I remember," the Sakaaran huffed out between ragged breaths.

Valkyrie could feel Loki's limbs beginning to stir, although his overall color showed little improvement. At that moment, she heard Thor cry out in pain from one of Gast's attacks and then stumble back and collapse against the front wall of the enclosure.

"Time to go!" Valkyrie exclaimed. She hooked her arms beneath Angmo's armpits and heaved him into a standing position. Though wobbly, he managed to stay upright long enough for her to turn her attention back to Loki. "On your feet!" she commanded, wrenching him upwards by the collar. To her amazement, Loki's body actually responded, albeit stiffly.

Thor and the Grandmaster were now locked in physical battle, the Asgardian pinned to the wall behind him and Gast's hand around his throat, channeling enough power through the cornered man that his eyes sparked from the power being fed into him.

"Loki, get up!" Valkyrie commanded, one arm circling his back and pulling him towards the door. He was able to stand only with the aid of both Valkyrie and Angmo, who still looked a little dazed as he shored up Loki's other side. When Loki saw Thor's predicament he moaned the word, "no," but he was too weak to resist the arms that were guiding him towards the exit.

**.**.**

The Hulk was surveying the bodies of the enemies that surrounded him when a throbbing pain drew his attention. He began to tug at the hilt of a spear that had buried itself in his shoulder but then thought better of it. He would bleed more; that was what was stopping him. Yet he could not say how he knew this, and his mind churned as he tried to make sense of these foreign thoughts. He crushed the wood of the spear handle in his massive fingers in frustration, leaving only a small bit protruding above the skin. The remainder could be removed later. For now, he had something to do.

He just didn't quite know what.

He heard a cry of agony from the stands, and he turned to see the yellow-haired man that he knew from the cells succumbing to the attack of the Grandmaster. He was being held flush against the wall of the private seating area while Gast was feeding immeasurable amounts of energy throughout his body. For some reason, this made the Hulk furious, and he could feel the sinews of his arms growing taut with rage. He growled menacingly before answering his split-second impulse to charge towards the Grandmaster. He launched himself with enough haste that Gast had no warning when the green bulk of the creature knocked him into the seats four rows behind where he had been standing.

**.**.**

Loki seemed to be growing reasonably stronger as they stumbled through the lower levels, Angmo taking the lead since Valkyrie was unfamiliar with the halls of the structure. "We cannot . . . leave Thor," he said, pausing long enough to draw a few pained breaths.

Valkyrie's response was definitive. She wrenched him forward by the collar and said, "Shut up," before continuing to pull him down the corridor. After a few fumbling steps during which Loki tried weakly to dislodge her fist from his clothing, she replied. "Do you think I _want_ to leave him?" She cruelly tightened her hold and increased their speed. "You are the one who is gravely wounded, and, therefore, you are my priority."

"Thor is probably . . . gravely wounded by now . . . as well." His words came intermittently as he struggled to even his breathing. "Regardless of . . . .whether or not . . . I perish here . . . Thor should be your first concern." He stopped to cough several times, and she could hear the wet rattle of blood in his lungs. "He is . . . the King."

Upon hearing the reverberation of fluid in Loki's breaths, Angmo offered her an anxious, wide-eyed look.

"Look, I can see it . . . on your faces," Loki continued, his respirations coming with more difficulty. "I am done for. Just . . . leave me."

"Don't be so dramatic," Angmo said. He crossed over to Loki's prone body and coaxed him back to his feet, slinging one arm over his opposite shoulder. "You've survived worse."

Valkyrie followed the Sakaaran's lead, draping Loki's other arm behind her neck.

"I was never . . . this injured . . . in the arena," Loki huffed between strained inhalations as they began to move forward again.

"I'm not speaking of the arena." Angmo's tone was grim. Miraculously, these words appeared to cut down Loki's remaining will to resist.

They were several dozen steps outside of the arena and moving sluggishly through a sea of fleeing spectators, when Valkyrie realized she had no idea where to run. "Angmo!" she yelled over the bleating of the crowd, "Where do we go now?"

The Sakaaran halted their progress in order to consider her inquiry. He surveyed the stark land around them, tracing it all the way to the horizon with his eyes before shrugging his shoulders, and Valkyrie's heart dropped as she translated his actions into meaning.

The members of the fleeing throng brushed against them in their haste to escape, and the swaying caused Loki to blanch as if he might retch. His features matched her feelings while she swept her eyes from side to side in desperation, seeking a hiding place that the Grandmaster would not think to search. It was hopeless.

"There," Loki choked out, raising his chin to gesture over her left shoulder.

Valkyrie and Angmo both swung their eyes to the area Loki had indicated. The Sakaaran looked bewildered at the sight, but Valkyrie did not. Her eyes swept over the familiar shape, and her chest burned with a subtle dread that she had not experienced in centuries.

"You must be joking," she muttered.

**.**.**

The Grandmaster quickly recovered from the unexpected blow, but the Hulk was swift enough to land two more hits before his retaliation came. When it did, the creature was only able to withstand a few moments of his power before he wailed and fell to his knees.

Thor had managed to gain back part of his strength and a sliver of his wits during this small reprieve. He lurched to his feet, searching the debris around him for a weapon that might be somehow be effective against the Grandmaster. There was none. The howling of the Hulk grew more intense as the onslaught of magic continued to invade him. It would be suicide to charge Gast in order to break the stream of energy flowing into his friend as it would only make him the target of Gast's wrath once again. He could not endure it himself for very long, and whatever peculiar swell of his own power he had felt before had deserted him by this point. Yet, there was no other way.

Thor tensed the muscles of his legs as he readied himself for the assault, only stopping cold when he saw the transformation taking place before him: the Hulk was shrinking, his skin growing pale as it incrementally revealed the Midgardian man beneath the surface of the monster. The horrible screaming became a blend of an animal's roar and a human's cry of abject pain. He was becoming Bruce Banner again in slow degrees, but this was no cause for celebration. The power of the Grandmaster's magic would easily reduce his mortal form to ashes.

So Thor did what must be done. He ran with all his strength toward the Grandmaster in order to draw his ire away from the vulnerable man, only to find himself batted away like an insect.

Gast paused his attack and turned to the fallen Asgardian. "Oh, you simple fool," he said almost kindly. "You have sacrificed everything to save one who cannot be saved." He smiled, the curve of his lips barely raising during the gesture, remaining every bit the calm, calculating despot who had built this empire upon lies and brutality. "You should have crawled away like your dying coward of a brother while you had the chance."

"If only you had followed his lead, En Dwi Gast."

This resonant voice was unexpected, and Gast whirled to face whomever had spoken. A ruddy figure had entered the confines of the Grandmaster's box, and he leaned on the interior wall, his arm crooked to rest upon the doorframe.

"Then again, even if you had, you could not evade me forever."

Gast was clearly disturbed, and, if Thor was not mistaken, his eyes were a little wide with apprehension. "How did you find me?" he whispered in a hiss. His arms had crossed subconsciously around his midsection in a gesture of protection.

"I received a tip," the red creature replied. He pushed his hip off of the doorframe and began to approach. "From a friend," he finished with a broad, unsettling grin.

"Mephisto," Gast wheedled, "I am certain that we can resolve this with some negotiation."

"A mutual acquaintance, really," the demon continued as if he had not heard the Grandmaster's pleas. "Clever lad - lovely eyes, wicked tongue. He said you treated him rather poorly during his last visit to Sakaar."

"I can return to you what I have taken. That should rectify whatever loss you have incurred."

"Oh, I don't think so." Mephisto continued his advance, and the Grandmaster continued to shrink submissively into his corner. "You see, you have taken more from me than just what I lost in material terms. You hurt me, En." The demon spread his hand over his chest and feigned an injured air. "You hurt my _pride_. I'm afraid that is not something you can replace with physical goods. That sort of debt requires recompense of a more _meta_ physical nature."

"No, no - Mephisto, I have a vast realm full of riches! I have resources beyond measure! Surely we can reach a mutual understanding -"

"I think an extended period of suffering within my realm would be a suitable exchange, don't you?"

The Grandmaster was nearly reduced to tears. "I will give you anything, Mephisto - anything you want!" he stammered.

"Oh, yes, you shall," Mephisto hummed. The demon came closer, straightening the cuffs of his shirt fastidiously as he approached. "You will give me _everything_." With his eyes still locked on the cowering form of En Dwi Gast, he said to Thor: "Take your friend from the arena and go to the southern exit. Near the edge of the city you will find my ship - and your brother, most likely."

"I am afraid not," Thor replied. He began to lift the limp but living body of his friend to make for the exit. "I believe that Loki may be dead, for he was nearly so when he was taken from the arena."

Thor watched with alarm as Mephisto's face underwent a terrifying transformation. His eyes flared a deep crimson hue, and his features twisted into a mask of contempt. In moments, he changed from the form of the composed, charming fiend that he typically wore into a true demon's image. He seemed larger, his hands curled into angry claws and his lips molding into a smile that prominently displayed the points of his teeth.

"Leave, Odinson," Mephisto directed hoarsely. When Thor hesitated, still mesmerized by the horror of the creature before him, the demon snapped, "Go!" and the intense flicker of his eyes spurred Thor into action.

The last sound Thor heard as he fled was the Grandmaster weeping with terror, begging for the mercy he would most certainly not receive.


End file.
